Harder To Swallow Than Most
by SilverKitsune1
Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester a young man whose mind has been ripped apart. Crossover with Angel.
1. Puppy Love

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (1/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: My wonderful betas Wild Wolf Free17 and Livejournal user SamCanDoIt

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Puppy Love**

Connor had learned a lot since Sunny. There was a mess of new vocabulary words swimming around in his brain. Crack, heroin, PCP, cocaine, Angel Dust, ecstasy, crystal, he knows them all now. Gunn and Fred had lectured on their dangers. Shows that flickered across the T.V. screen gave him their effects in the form of a glossy lie, and the men and women huddled in the alleys of L.A. gave him the jagged truth. He'd learned a lot about these things that could make you twitch, and moan, and cry, and beg. What he didn't understand were the people who took them, and he avoided them when he could. He didn't want another Sunny.

Unfortunately, that's what he found in the light of the blue moon. Another kid in an alleyway. Another Sunny. Another junkie. Another lost cause that would paw at his chest with gratitude while trying to slip cracked fingernails into his pockets, searching for crumpled dollar bills.

The kid was bleeding at the neck, two shallow puncture wounds caused by a vampire who hadn't had time to really sink his teeth into his dinner.

It wasn't the shaking the clued him in. That was what most people, other people, people that weren't him, did after they'd had a vampire pulled off of them. It was the words that spilled out of the mouth that let Connor know what he'd found.

"You're impossible. You can't be here."

He was tall, taller than Connor, but a tall human didn't mean much to a teenager who could jump off tall buildings, and walk three miles on a broken ankle without a whimper.

Long arms pressed long fingers against the brick wall. Long legs threatened to buckle until he shifted his weight and stumbled back into the fence that blocked his retreat. He hid his height, hunched his body over, and let dark shaggy hair fall into wild hazel eyes that darted from Connor's face, to Connor's hands, and back again.

"You went in from the left, but you never came out."

Connor might have though the two of them were the same age if he'd known what his own age was.

"Get out of here," Connor said.

"_He_ went in from the left, but he never came out either."

The young man took a step forward, and Connor turned to leave. "The moon was watching." The words raked down Connor's back as he headed for the street. "But it was made of paper and waning, and it couldn't help anybody."

"Go home," Connor called over his shoulder.

It was a long night, and the sunrise chased him back to the warehouse. The young man was waiting for him.

"There are twenty-seven steps between today and tomorrow." Large dirty hands ran through greasy locks, and when the bangs were lifted high Connor saw a line of dark blue bruises decorated the kid's hair line. The blood around the vampire bite was dry, and a thin trail of it disappeared under the collar of the torn t-shirt. The young man lowered his voice, and leaned close. Connor kept his weight on the balls of his feet, and his hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife in his jeans.

"I took the first twenty-six," the young man confided in a soft voice. The dimpled smile that followed was tentative and hopeful. "They hurt."

Connor reached around him, and pushed the front door open. The hinges creaked, and light that spilled in had to muscle around the tall body of the stranger before it could flood the room. "You can stay until you're not crazy. Then you go home."

* * *


	2. Test

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (2/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and livejournal user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Test**

Connor held the boy by the wrist. His middle and ring finger rested against the other teenager's pulse point, and Connor could feel the slow steady flutter of pumping blood. The other teenager hadn't looked at Connor since being allowed inside. His eyes, instead, found the grizzly bear, the large snarling dead creature that had been the reason Connor chose this warehouse to reside in.

"The son screams in fear when he sees the animal," the other teenager said. "Arcus, he can't see his family in the body of the bear."

Connor rolled the boy's sleeve up to his elbow, and then pressed the silver cross against the dirty flesh. There was no reaction, and Connor nodded with approval.

If Connor's guest took any offense at his actions, he didn't show them. "He told them that he was being followed. Told everyone about the bear in the woods that watched him. They told the boy that he was dreaming."

Connor spared the stuffed bear a glance. He enjoyed the strength and danger the other animal possessed. He wondered what it would be like to see one, maybe even to hunt one.

"The bears become stars later." The boy shook his head like a dog when the holy water dribbled down his forehead and soaked his hair, and drops of it splashed against Connor's face.

"I thought there was only one bear in this story," Connor said, curiously. Holtz's stories had involved names like Job and Noah, and creatures like archangels and serpents. They had involved his father and mother, and discussed the evil they had committed against God, but never any bears.

"There are always two bears in the story." The boy reached out and laid his free hand over the grizzly's rear paw. His hand almost engulfed it. "They should never separate, and they never go into the sea or under the horizon. They don't get to go with Orion."

Convinced that he hadn't invited a vampire or a demon into his shelter, Connor grabbed the dirty teen by the shoulders and helped him to his feet.

"The hunter leaves, but the big bear always stays. Big and little bears playing in the Milky Way."

Keeping one hand on the boy's scraped elbow, Connor guided him to the stairs.

He settled the boy amidst the piles of blankets and pillows he'd thrown over a discarded mattress that made his bed. The young man peered at Connor from behind too long bangs with a blank stare.

Connor pulled off shoes and socks. He curled up on the mattress, his face to the stranger who cautiously collapsed against the soft surface.

"If you try to hurt me, I'll kill you," Connor said.

The young man yawned. "I don't really like tomatoes either."

Connor snorted and closed his eyes.

The afternoon sun had filled the small room with light when Connor woke. He poked a foot out from his pile of blankets, and settled it on the floor. Surprised at the grainy feeling under the sole he sat up. There was a circle of salt around his bed, and the young stranger from earlier sat cross-legged outside of it, his head propped up in his hands, watching him.

"What's this?" Connor snapped. His feet touched the cool cement floor. His toes crunched under the grains of salt as he stepped outside of the circle.

The stranger smiled. "I'm Sam. Like the rifle."

* * *


	3. Storm

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (3/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

* * *

**Storm**

Outside the air is calm and clean. Or as clean as it can be in L.A. The moon is half full, and a dull burnt yellow, not high enough yet to transform into the more familiar bone white color that the movies Gunn watches always have it adopt. They're lucky to see it. The fog has already destroyed their chances with the stars. Connor has heard so much about these stars that accompany the moon. Quor-Toth hadn't been a place for beauty, and the moon would have been enough for Connor without the extra decoration.

Fred had opened a book for him once, showing him pictures of swirling galaxies and pinpricks of light that broke through wide stretches of darkness. He thinks on his next trip to the Hyperion he'll steal it. Show Sam.

Inside they're faced with a storm. Sam cooks one up with flailing arms and labored breaths. His voice rolls like thunder across the cement floor as he paces, and a rain of his own making decorates his face.

"They watch me. No walls. Nothing to keep the eyes out. Too many eyes, they always get in, and none of them are the right color. Daddy left me in the closet with a monster and a .45."

Connor keeps his distance. He's not sure if the other teenager's ranting can be taken seriously, but whoever this man is, this father who left Sam alone to be broken, he thinks he might kill him if he ever finds him. Break an arm at the very least.

Sam digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "A boot in the face. A stake in your fat black heart. Daddy, daddy I'm through."

Connor is apprehensive; he doesn't want to wake the still sleeping, still nervous Cordelia, but despite the fear, and the flailing, he thinks he likes this. Having other people in his safe space that he can take care of, and call his own makes something in his chest come together with a satisfied click. More broken people who don't mind that he's cracked in places too.

"Sam," Connor says, his voice soft. "There are no monsters in here. I kill monsters. I don't let them in my warehouse."

Cordelia pops her head around the corner, one of Connor's blankets draped over her shoulders like a cape.

"Is everything alright?"

"Bullet with a butterfly's wings!" Sam howls like a gale. His eyes are hard as polished stones, and he snarls at Cordelia. "I see you lodged in there. _Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum._"

"He's having a bad night," Connor sighs. "I'll ride it out with him. You can go back to sleep."

* * *


	4. Taxi

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (4/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

* * *

**Taxi**

It's Karl's own fault for leaving the taxi cab running while he ran into the all night Quickstop for a bag of twinkies and a cup of hot coffee. A man couldn't be expected to make it through the late shift without sustenance, but he supposed pulling the key out of the ignition and actually parking may have been a better idea in the long run. He should have at least rolled the window up.

"You step away from my cab," Karl growled, his voice low and his large fists clenched. "And I won't break your neck."

A skinny kid, all elbows and knees with a mop of brown hair pulled himself out of the window. "You lost the notes; the quarters, and the halfs, and the sixteenths, all of them. I'm trying to get them back for you."

The kid didn't have one of those medical bracelet thingies, and he wasn't one of the 'working boys' that regularly strutted through the area. There was something off about him, a few pancakes short of a stack, but he wasn't in a paper gown or clutching a bloody knife. He was clean, his clothes were more or less intact, and it was obvious that this wasn't the type of kid who should be left alone.

"Stupid conscience," the cab driver muttered darkly as he buckled the young man's seat belt.

The kid fiddled with the radio as they drove, skipping past stations and conducting a broken symphony of song. Jazz bled into rap, which transformed into county, which was usurped by bubble gum pop before being eaten by the nightly news.

When the first lines of ACDC's "What Do You Do For Money Honey" struggled out of the speakers the tune and the lyrics came bundled up with thick tendrils of static. The kid crowed triumphantly. "There they are. All the right notes!"

"Whatever you say, kid," Karl chuckled. "Don't suppose you can make this easy on an old guy and tell me where you live."

"With Connor," the kid said, his head bobbing along with the lyrics. "We're getting zebra cakes for dinner."

"Sounds nice," Karl said.

"Connor keeps my eyes from growing murky." The teenager shooed Karl's hands away when the cabbie tried to turn the volume down."

The streets were empty at that point in the night in that part of town, but that didn't make the veteran driver feel safe. There were always dangers in L.A., and the darkness only magnified them. Karl had heard the stories about cabbies who drove off to work the late shift never to be heard from again. Personally, he thought the stories about what happened when they _were_ heard from again were worse.

"You hungry?" Karl asked, breaking at the sight of a red light. There was a package of Slim Jims in the dash that he could offer up as a snack.

The teenager looked confused. "We're having zebra cakes. All sugar and stripes, but no hooves. Two to a package. Connor is getting them."

"I'm sure those will fill your belly later," Karl said. "But maybe you-"

That was when the cab door was ripped clean off and a hand closed around his neck. The most androgynous kid he's ever seen outside of a teeny bopper T.V. show slammed him against the side of the taxi before he could blink. Karl wondered if he and his brown haired passenger were about to become another addition to the hushed whispers that made up cabby lore.

"That's Connor," the young man's voice darted around the wailing chorus of heavy metal. "Mostly spice, some sugar, but no stripes."

"Sam?" the teen, Connor, called.

"Connor, I found all the right notes!"

The light from the streetlamps caused the boy's eyes to glow a flat dull yellow color.

"Where were you taking him?" Connor hissed.

Karl, who stood at 6'2 and weighed 210 pounds barely managed to squeak out a response.

"I thought he was lost." Karl squirmed. The tips of his toes skirted across the dirty street, and breathing was difficult when the hand of a grim faced teen was wrapped around your windpipe. "I was going to take him-" The pressure around his neck increased and Karl gagged.

"He's not lost, and he's not yours to pick up."Karl's vision swam, his hands pawed at the one that held him aloft and when it released him he dropped like a stone.

When the cab driver lifted his head both the boys were gone. They'd melted soundlessly into the shadows like alley cats.

* * *


	5. Beach

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (5/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

* * *

**Beach **

The ocean frightened Connor. It was an alien emotion that he hadn't felt in years.

It wasn't the size of it—he'd faced demons so large they could have fit him into their pockets. It wasn't the noise—he actually found the steady pound of the incoming waves against the shore to be soothing. It wasn't even the sea life, because he figured a punch to the eye of any foul-looking beast would keep him safe. He just couldn't swim.

Water had been precious in Quor-toth. Survival had often rested on how deep the boy who had once been known as Stephen and the man who had once been known as his father had dug in their search for it. As he sat on the shore, the cold sand filling his socks and bunched under his hands Connor found himself wishing for Holtz.

Angel was his father, but Holtz had been the one to teach him to fight the monsters that prowled the shadows around their campfires. Holtz had kept him from bleeding out when the horned beasts had ripped through the skin of his arm. Holtz had given him stories about a ranch in a place called Utah that had filled the boy's dreams with something other than fangs and blood. The ranch where he would have ridden horses across wide open fields of honeysuckle and wild rose, and slept under long stretches of friendly sky.

Angel had created him, and lost him. Cordelia's father had created her, and abandoned her. Sam's father had created him, and disappeared. If that was what fathers did, then he was glad the title no longer applied to the man who had raised him. Who had loved him.

Connor wondered if he'd like horses.

The waves that crashed against the shore were black. The moon was waning, and all that was left of it was a thin sliver of a silver smile. The sand he sat on was gray and it made the drops of blood that flowed from his ankle look thicker and darker than he was used to.

Connor sighed and shifted his position. Cordelia had taken off down the beach with a sword in her hand and determination on her face. She would kill the demon and then come back for him, just like he'd told her to do. In return, he would sit on the beach and nurse his cuts and broken ankle, just like she'd told him to do.

When he heard the footsteps clomping along the boardwalk, Connor's shoulders tensed. He flattened his hands across the sand and prepared to stand.

"The lights were all off!" Sam's huge booming voice raced across the beach. "And there weren't any soft pretzels left or cotton candy, but I won you it anyway."

Connor froze. He raised his eyebrows as Sam, feet bare and hair mussed, trotted across the sand. There was a ragged, dirty stuffed horse with a lopsided horn glued to his forehead clutched in his fingers. The horse was blue and made of felt. The horn was gold and covered in sparkles. Sam dropped the stuffed animal, one of the cheaply made carnival cast offs that tourists could win by throwing darts at rubber balloons into his lap.

"I told you to stay in the warehouse," Connor scolded.

The other teen ignored him and collapsed onto the sand. He bent low to inspect Connor's blood-soaked ankle.

"Hey, come away from that." Connor snagged the back of Sam's jacket, and pulled the boy into a sitting position. "I'll be fine. Vampire parents equal fast healing abilities."

He wasn't sure if Sam heard or understood, but he allowed Connor to straighten him up.

The dark waves of the Pacific rose and fell, foam clinging to their edges. Sam was a clear-eyed and warm weight against Connor's side.

"I don't like clowns," Sam said, his eyes on the sea. "Their teeth are covered in pretense and lead."

It wasn't safe out in the open like this for Sam, but allowing him to hike home by himself was out of the question. There were no fang marks on the boys neck, and besides a toenail that had been ripped off during some part of his walk, Sam was unharmed.

Connor gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll break the nose of any clown that comes too close."

"Like the vampires playing on the pier?" Sam asked.

Connor nodded. "Just like the—Wait, the what?"

Sam pointed wordlessly across the sand toward the dilapidated wood pier that sat further down the beach. Connor could make out three shapes bobbing along, heading in their direction.

"I think they're mad because I couldn't win them anything." Sam poked his fingers into the sand. "I wasn't really trying though."

"Sam," Connor said. "Help me up."

* * *


	6. Aloof

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (6/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Aloof**

The sky loved the earth, loved her so much that he ripped his heart from his chest, and hung it from his left ear where the earth could see it. The sky's heart became the sun, and it warmed and nurtured the earth below. The earth, in return, made the branches of the trees that grew from her soil tall and strong, and their wood fingers reached for the sky as a symbol of her longing.

The sky loved the earth, loved her so much that it shaped his soul like a lump of clay and hung it from his right ear where the earth could see it. The sky's soul became the moon and it was a light in the darkness for the animals and the women and the men who played in the earth's fields, climbed the earth's hills and ran through the earth's woods. The earth, in return, took stone and mud and puzzled them together to make mountains that were so tall their peeks were said to brush playfully under the sky's belly.

The sky loved the earth, loved her so much that he removed the bones from his right hand, crushed them into powder and scattered them across the night where the earth could see them. The sky's bones became stars, and when they glittered it was said it was the sky waving to his beloved. In return, the earth made it so those souls who had done great good while living would halt their journey to the afterlife and, for a while at least, burn brightly alongside the stars. These souls would tell the sky of their lives on the earth, and were thought of as guardians for all those men and women left behind.

Sam supposed, as he watched the fire rain down upon Los Angeles, that the sky, finally frustrated with his inability to properly embrace his beloved, had shaped his passion into flames. The heat from each blown kiss left a blackened scorched tattoo upon the earth's flesh that looked raw and painful.

Sam understood. Love sometimes hurt.

The teenager sat in the doorway of the warehouse. When the building shook he grasped the frame with both of his hands. Fire made Sam edgy. He was supposed to avoid fire at all costs. Fire made want him the Bear, or the Hunter or Connor, but all of them were busy. The Hunter was gone, off stalking prey in places unknown never to return. Connor was upstairs with Cordelia, and held captive in a tangle of limbs, and hands, and lips, and tongues, and spit, and soft eyes. The Bear was with Connor.

Sam frowned and bit his lip. Or maybe that was wrong. Maybe it was that the Bear had already been with Connor, or maybe it was that the Bear would be with Connor eventually. Sam got confused sometimes. Sometimes things weren't real. The Bear used to tell him that.

_Dreams aren't real, Sammy. They can't hurt you._

Sam shook his hair away from his eyes and set his jaw. This was real. (Or it would be real. Or it had been real) and the Bear, whenever he actually was, was as much of a partner in the dance that ended with Connor's skin and Connor's hips and Connor's smile as Cordelia was.

Sam didn't think Cordelia would like it. But then again Cordelia, or specifically the black rotting creature squirming inside her, didn't like much of anything.

"Not appropriate to watch," Sam muttered and pulled his arm over his eyes.

A large ball of flame, so hot it burned blue instead of red slammed into the brick building across the street. The framework groaned like a marine with black hair and aching knees, then shuddered like a man with too many teeth who told him it would only hurt for a second, and collapsed.


	7. Muse

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (7/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

* * *

**Muse**

He was not the type of demon to question. He was the Beast. He received his orders, and he was glad to obey them.

Casting distrust on the boy known as Connor had been simple. Killing the Ra-tat had been easy. Exterminating the mice at the law firm of Wolfram and Heart had been, while not exhilarating, entertaining. There were centuries separating him from the battlefields he had once soaked in blood and the cement streets of Los Angeles, but the crunch of a human body under his hand still caused a rush of pleasure to sing in his veins. Scissoring his claws into the woman known as Lilah's stomach had been a crowning point. It was a pity she had escaped before he'd had a chance to squeeze her liver in his hand.

His next few orders would not be as satisfying; spells and magic even ones that would block out the sun, could not live up to crackle of skin as it burned or the sick sopping sound that accompanied ripping of a woman's arms off, but he was not the type of demon to complain. He was the Beast. He received his orders, and he was glad to obey them.

"Sam!" There was blood running down the boy Connor's face. He scuttled across the warehouse floor putting distance between the Beast and himself. "Sam, run!"

The Beast, if he was one to wonder, would have been puzzled as to why the frail creature had not yet fallen. The boy and the Beast had fought three times now, and the blows the Beast delivered had slowed this human down, but not killed him. Perhaps his bones were made of steel or his blood blessed. It didn't matter. His orders did not involve killing the boy Connor, and his orders were all the Beast adhered to.

Grasping the human by the shirt, the Beast lifted Connor high in the air. A well placed kick connected with the Beast's solid torso, and he smiled at the boy's snarl.

"Sam, get out!" Connor howled. A punch glanced off the Beast's shoulder, and Connor sucked in a mouthful of breath. "Get out!"

The Beast defenestrated the boy with a flick of his wrist. The glass gave way under Connor's lean form. Pieces of it accompanied him as he plummeted toward the street below, glinting and gleaming like falling stars in the sunlight.

The Beast's cloven hooves were heavy and loud, each footfall sounded like a bag of stones dropping onto the warehouse floor. Shards of shattered glass were crushed to powder under his weight.

"'Trip, trap, trip, trap,' sang the troll under the bridge," the boy called Sam sobbed, pressing himself into the corner where window and wall came together.

A wave washing in from an ocean of promise rippled off this boy called Sam, and if the Beast had been one to muse, he would have wondered why the master demanded the death of such a powerful creature. A broken creature like this could be shaped into a weapon and an ally. But he was not the type of demon to question. He was the Beast. He received his orders, and he was glad to obey them.

"Come here, little human," the Beast beckoned. "I have work to do."

* * *


	8. Gloves

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (8/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

**

* * *

**

**Gloves**

The snap wakes him some nights. It throws Sam out of dreams and dark sleeps. Sam with the capital S and the period and then the capital W and then the period again. There are two Sams, he knows that much. There's This Sam and That Sam, but he can't remember the second one very well. He supposes the two must not have gotten along, and therefore parted ways. Now he can only remember bits of when he was still That Sam Winchester, but not This Sam Winchester, but whether he's This Sam or That Sam or No Sam, which he thinks he might be on certain days, the memory of the snap still wakes him up some nights.

Connor's hands were warm, slippery from soap and water. The palms and fingertips were covered with rough calluses, and a particularly rough one sat proudly on the pad of the thumb that he used to push Sam's wet bangs away from his eyes.

"Close 'em," Connor commanded and Sam obeyed. He let Connor tip his head back over the bathtub. A trail of water ran down the back of his neck as his hair was drenched.

The thumb that used to brush back his hair, back when he was That Sam and not This Sam was dirty and rough against his temple, but no less gentle. The thumb, like the other fingers, had cracked nails and an array of dirt, grease and rock salt trapped underneath them. Clotted black blood was squashed under the hard coating from when it had bee slammed in the Impala's door.

"Orion's thumbnail was full of blood," Sam confided. "And the rest were never clean."

"He got a cool belt though," Connor responded as he started to scrub shampoo into Sam's hair.

Other hands, this pair with patches of skin peeking out from poorly made red knitted gloves pushed clumps of snow, ice and multigrain cereal down the collar of Sam's jacket. They tackled him, friendly paws cuffing his head as they wrestled and played under the cold Wyoming sky.

_Gonna_ _to have to cut that mop soon, little brother._

Sam enjoyed it when those clusters of stars spoke to him through his memories, and the smile on his face lasted until a new voice drowned out the Hunter and the Bear.

"How are we doing in here?"

Sam can hear the snap of the latex glove against chilly white skin; quick, brisk and efficient. Those hands will scour his neck for the rapid beat of a pulse, and skirt around his chest with careful precision. They'll pry his eyelids open, and sometimes his mouth. They'll hold him down, and let him shiver.

"He's fine, Dad," Connor said. More water was dumped over Sam's head, and the teenager's eyes cracked open. "Just shook up. Keep your eyes closed, Sam. I'm almost done. "

_Pry the eyelids up. I want to see if his pupils are affected during an episode._

"I guess seeing a giant horned hell beast toss their friend out a third story window would make anyone a little jumpy," Angel said dryly.

"Yeah." Connor's fingers were snagged on a tangle, and he scissored his fingers in an effort to part it. "Thank you. For getting him out."

Sam's stomach clenched and he leaned away from Angel when the vampire knelt next to the tub. "You probably want to thank Gunn for that one. He did most of the heavy lifting. Are you and Sam going to camp out in this room?"

Connor's hands made their way through Sam's hair looking for renegade shampoo patches. "Yes. Cordy is next door."

White floating hands fitted with tight gloves squeezed Sam's temples. The pressure became unbearable, and behind Sam's eyes there was an explosion of images, sounds and smells.

Connor's fingers fanned across Sam's face. "Open your eyes, Sam. It's not real. Remember?"

Sam obeyed, blinking away spots of color.

"Better?" Connor asked.

Bits of glass that still decorate Connor's hair from when the Beast had thrown him through the warehouse window. They hung from the light brown strands, and twinkled like starlight.

* * *


	9. Superstition

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (9/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Superstition**

"Are we staying here?"

It was the first _sane_ sentence Connor had heard Sam utter since the Beast barged into their home. The teenager emerged from the bathroom, his own hair still damp from the shower, and his body thanking him for the clean shirt and jeans he'd pulled on.

Sam sat cross-legged on the queen-sized bed that filled most of the room. "Are we?"

"For a little bit," Connor said. The mattress was firm and unyielding underneath him, and he bounced on it experimentally.

Sam scowled. "I don't like it here. There are too many ghosts and none of them respond to Latin."

"When the sun comes back out and there isn't fire raining down from the sky, we'll go back to the warehouse," Connor promised. Peeling away the layers of hotel bed sheets and blankets he tried to settle Sam under the covers.

"Can we go get the Bear?" Sam pleaded his eyes large and wet. "We left the Bear behind. You shouldn't leave important things behind."

"He's huge. He's got claws, and he's already dead," Connor soothed. The sheets smelled musty, and felt stiff. No one had used this bed in a long while. "He can take care of himself."

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. "Everyone always says that. You always say that, but you have to watch out for yourself. When are you going to learn to watch out for yourself? You can't just follow the man blindly, and not expect to pay the price one day."

"Who are you talking about? Angel? I am not following Angel anywhere." Connor felt a bubbling spring of anger break through his heart at the very thought of letting the souled vampire lead him around by the nose without question. He was not a solider in Angel's little army.

"She's going to take you away. He's going to get you killed and she's going to take you away and you'll go because the bell will toll, and you'll have to answer it just like he did." Sam buried his head in his hands. "Did I break a mirror? When I'm twenty-one will I have paid my dues and will it all go away? Every time I want to stay we have to move. I try to build houses, but they're always made of gingerbread and then the rats show up for a free meal."

"It's not permanent, Sam." Connor brushed the bangs away from his forehead. "It's something that we have to do for right now. We can't stay in the warehouse. The Beast knows we're there. He'll kill us if he sees us, but it's safer in the Hyperion, for you, for Cordelia, and for me. I can't protect you out there. Do you understand? Do you get why we had to move?"

Sam pulled away from the other teenager's touch. With a huff he stretched out across the mess of bedding, and turned to his side, his face to the wall. "Yes, sir."

Connor didn't know how to react to the unfamiliar moniker, or to the cold chipped tone that accompanied it. "Sam?"

"Death is an escape and sleep is death's brother," Sam muttered and pulled one of the blue cotton sheets over his head. "I'm sleep, and death is gone, and I can't hear you."

"Fine," Connor snapped. Wounded he climbed off the bed and headed for the door. "Get some sleep."

He stomped out of the room, shutting the door with enough force to make the wood groan. The voices of the rest of Angel Investigations drifted up from the lobby and filled the hotel's hallways. Connor turned away from the sound, and headed for the kitchen. There was never a time when he wasn't hungry, and emptying Angel's freezer sounded like a good plan for now. Connor hoped he could find something other than pig's blood.

* * *


	10. Blackboard

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (10/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Blackboard**

The blue chalk was cracked at the tip. It sang ear-splitting harpy songs as it sketched equations and names, diagrams and protection symbols. The board was black. Like pitch wrapped in midnight.

He was supposed to remember these things. Write them out again and again until the lesson had stuck to his brain like melted caramel. He won't, though. There was only so much room up there, and Sam refused to make space for these new things at the expense of the old. He'd pay for that, but that was expected. The world is all about balance and consequence. Remember this, but forget that. Accept this, but deny that. Created this, but destroy that. Everything had a price.

Sam took the offered chalk; it was green now, and left clouds of gritty dust behind on his fingers. He ignored what had already been written across the board. When he wrote, the information was his own.

He started with their laughs. He wrote down the snickers, and the barking laughs, the laughs that he heard after a hard round of teasing and the one deep belly laugh that came from deep inside the mountain of a man who rarely smiled. He moved on to their smells next, and then their small idiosyncrisities. No quirk was too annoying to be remembered. He mapped out wobbly lined boxes that held categories like "favorite roadside foods" and "fights we always seem to have" and "pranks we pulled on one another."

One box was much smaller than the rest, and Sam was hesitant to make this one because all the information inside it was gathered secondhand, but he filled it in as best he could anyway, because it felt important.

He was halfway through listing the names of every movie they'd ever had the pleasure of watching together when the chalk abruptly ran out. Surprised, his fingers ghosted across the ink black rectangle and left a clear green thumbprint behind. He was far from finished, and his chalk was gone, but that didn't mean he had to stop.

When Connor peeled Sam away from the wall of their room, he wasn't alone. The tiny woman named Fred with the Texas accent and the curly brown hair was with him. Her sneakered foot connected with the abandoned green marker, dry of ink, and she absentmindedly kicked the tube under the dresser.

Sam didn't fight. He fell back into Connor's hold, and allowed the other teenager to guide him to the floor. A plate full of peanut butter sandwiches, a bag of cookies and two glasses of juice were littered across the carpet.

"Oh, honey." Fred lifted his large hand into her small ones. She examined Sam's bleeding fingertips with concerned eyes. "What did you do?"

There was a string of words written first in green, and later in red, that ran across the wallpaper and the paint. It dipped low to scoot under the windowsill, and then wobbled across the door like a drunk.

_DeanJohnMaryDeanJohnMaryDeanJohnMaryDeanJohnMaryDeanJohnMary_

"They're mine," Sam said, and bumped his nose against Connor's chin. "They can't have them."

* * *


	11. Fantasy

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (11/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas!

Author's Note 1: I hope everyone had a happy holiday. I am so grateful to those of you who are enjoying this story.

Author's Note 2: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Fantasy**

Connor hadn't told Cordelia, but he was hoping for a girl.

"I don't think this is the best idea, Connor," Cordelia snapped. She was having a bad day, and Connor didn't mean to make it worse, but he wanted Sam to feel his child kick.

"There are only two souls in the room," Sam said nervously. "Doesn't that bother you?"

The other teenager was pinching the flesh on his forearm, leaving small red rashes up and down the tender skin, and Connor unconsciously reached back to make him stop.

"Only for a few seconds," Connor pleaded.

Connor hadn't told Cordelia, but when the world was no longer in danger of ending he'd like to move them to the desert, to the woods, to the mountains, to Utah, to any place where he won't be fenced in by concrete, steel and Angel. A safe place where Cordelia could regain her strength, his child could grow, and Sam could find peace.

He hoped Cordelia agreed to the idea. She was a champion, special, like him, like their child would be, and she might balk at abandoning L.A. Connor wanted to show her that the rest of the world could use her help, too.

"A few seconds," Cordelia agreed with pursed lips and a gleam in her eye.

Usually, Connor forgot that Sam was such a huge guy. He seemed so small most of the time, hunched in on himself, but it was hard to forget a man's height when his back was to your chest and you were forced to look around his shoulder instead of over it.

"Okay." Connor maneuvered Sam's hands until they were pressed against Cordelia's round belly. "Right there. Do you feel it, Sam?"

When Sam began to shake Connor shushed him and tightened his hold.

"It's full of dead flesh," Sam choked.

"No, Sam," Connor said. "That's my child in there. Try to feel it kick."

Connor hadn't told Cordelia, but he wanted the baby to love Sam as much as he hoped it would love its mother and father. He wanted it to understand that its family would do anything for it. They would protect each other from the things that lurked in the dark, and no one would be left behind.

"Connor?" Cordelia had to tilt her head to meet Connor's eyes. She lifted Sam's hands, and pushed them away. The tall teenager finally relaxed, but his fingers sporadically twitched.

"Our baby." Cordelia untangled his left hand from Sam's grip and placed it above her abdomen. Connor could feel the vibrant life that grew inside her. Small hands and fingers, tiny feet and toes. "You'd do anything for it? Destroy anyone for it?"

Connor's right hand rubbed circles over Sam's trembling shoulders, and his left hand brushed across the warm skin of Cordelia's stomach.

Connor hadn't told Cordelia, but he'd been testing names out on Sam. Rolling the names of plants, animals, and stars across his tongue and watching Sam's response. The one that received the best reaction would be the winner.

"Of course."

* * *


	12. Tease

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (12/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Tease**

The chase was Angelus' favorite part. The crunch of his fangs breaking through skin and muscle was all well and good. The splash of hot blood in his mouth was fulfilling, and necessary, but none of it lived up to the heat that could flush through him during the chase.

The scent of fear that lay heavy in the air of the Hyperion Hotel made his mouth water. It was familiar, but still exciting, still new. Individual creatures added their own tangs of desperation, sweat, and terror that rolled off a body and flavored his meal liked exotic spices. Every meal was different, every meal was the same.

Lilah smelled tart and warm. Like a raspberry pie that had been placed on the windowsill to cool. It waited for greedy hands to steal it, to make off for shady stops and dark woods where it would be cut opened, and devoured.

Angelus stalked through the corridors with all the grace of a jungle cat. He pushed doors open and ran his fingers along the light blue wallpaper. When the scent changed it was like walking into a fog. Lilah's was still there, but faint, barely a whisper. This new one was sweet like warm baking bread and honey for dipping. This one was overly-sugared cereals, and cheap roadside hot dogs bought at your own risk for the nice man on the corner, and underneath it all the coppery taste of blood.

"Beautiful," Angelus murmured.

Lilah's scent would grow stale if he abandoned it now, but the new smell had him, and he wasn't one to walk away from an interesting meal. He toed the door open, and walked in.

"Samuel." Angelus drew the word out. Grabbed the 'S' and the 'L' and pulled until the name was stretched thin. "Sammy-boy."

Connor's pet crazy had squeezed all six foot four inches of himself under the hotel room bed. He stared at Angelus with wide eyes and a heaving chest.

"Pst, pst pst." He wiggled his fingers, and Sam curled away. "Come on kitty, kitty. Time to come out."

"No more fingers," Sam whimpered.

He cried out when Angelus' heavy hand landed atop his neck, and grabbed a fistful of his jacket.

"Don't be like that," Angelus sang. "Don't be the pretty girl at the party who doesn't want to dance."

He had him halfway out, the kid mewling like a lost kitten, and trying to claw at his arms, when he felt the first tendrils of pressure brush against his torso.

"What the hell?"

The Hyperion has seen more than its share of bloodshed, and Angelus knows, because Angel knows and whatever Angel knows Angelus knows, that there's an amalgam of ghosts occupying the rooms. But none of them had ever batted so much as a translucent eyelash.

It came out of the air like a punch, sending Angelus sailing out of the room. He hit the hallway's wall hard, and the crack of skull against wood resonated through the hall. The door slammed shut, and with a click the lock slid home.

Angelus brushed himself off and stood. The collision had caused his game face to surface, and he gave a warning growl to the boy behind the door. A boot to the wood would bring it down.

Lilah's scent, now partnered with the smell of freshly spilt blood wafted under his nostrils. Licking his lips, Angelus abandoned the door and continued his trek down the hallway. He wasn't in the mood to deal with a psychic, and his taste buds were crying for something tart rather than something sweet anyway.

* * *


	13. Cry

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (13/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note One: Happy New Year!

Author's Note Two: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Cry**

Sam was in the courtyard mutilating Angel's jasmine flowers when Wesley found him. Broad green leaves the size of an outstretched hand carpeted the ground and silky white petals drunkenly spun and leapt up the stairs that led to the hotel lobby. Sam held a bushel of the fragrant blossoms in his hands, and viciously ripped petal from stem before discarding the clump and reaching for another.

Wesley's first instinct was to apologize. This was not the sight he wished to show the still unnamed goddess, Connor and Cordelia's child.

The goddess only frowned, and without a word glided across the stones, stepping around the decapitated foliage as she made her way to Sam. Wesley followed.

"What are you doing, Sam?" she asked. Her voice was like sleigh bells at Christmas and hot cider that warmed your body as it slid down your throat.

Sam didn't answer or turn. Instead he crushed a handful of the star shaped blooms and tipped his palm sideways. The remains of the flower slid across his palm and tumbled to the ground.

"He may object to being touched," Wesley warned as her dark-skinned hand reached for Sam's ash-gray skin. "He's-"

"Witnessed so much." The goddess turned Sam's face to hers. A low mewl of distress slipped through his lips, and Wesley was surprised the sound didn't caused Connor to appear at his side. "He's been through so much pain."

Sam froze under the gentle touch. The bundle of flowers fell from numb fingers, and the remaining bits of the night-blooming plant stuck to the boy's sweat-soaked palms.

Wesley couldn't feel anything but joy at the sight. It wasn't so long ago that he'd first felt the pure jubilance that radiated off this perfect woman whose very presents made him feel as though he were swimming in warm turquoise ocean waters. She must be a marvelous balm for the teenager's broken mind and damaged soul.

"I've never seen him so still," Wesley said, awed by the sight. "Not even with Connor."

"Connor loves him very much." The goddess smiled, and Wesley, who stood at her shoulder, breathed in the sight as though it were the last glass of oxygen left in the solar system.

"Oh, Sam," the goddess hushed, her thumbs brushing against the teenager's cheeks. "Don't cry."

The shadows of the hotel room had stretched their long arms across the floor when Connor found Sam visiting the dust bunnies under his bed.

"How do you even fit under there?" Connor wondered aloud as he lifted the corner of the bedspread.

Sam had curled his body into a tight ball. His head was pillowed in his arm, nose buried in the musty smell of the carpet fibers. His breathing was deep and slow and worrying.

Connor flattened himself against the carpet and wiggled his way to his friend.

"Sam?" Connor tried again. His hand pressed against the other boy's rib cage, and Sam curled away from the touch. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Downstairs, people began to trickle into the lobby, all of them there to view the newly named goddess, Jasmine.

* * *


	14. Lost

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (14/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note One: Hope everyone had a great New Year's Eve and a painless National Hangover Day!

Author's Note Two: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Lost**

Connor found a doctor, and he said Sam was (physically anyway) very healthy. Connor found a dentist, and she said Sam had two cavities, but that she'd fill them. Connor found a shaman, and he said whatever violent waters had been crashing against Sam's aura had been stilled by Jasmine's touch. Whatever that meant.

"Come on, kiddo," Lorne crooned holding Sam's hand in his own large green one. "Hit a high C for Uncle Lorne."

Connor didn't like using Lorne. Lorne was a demon, and his abilities were too much like magic for Connor's tastes, but Connor was out of options.

A tall striking black woman in a power suit and purple kitten-heeled pumps took a seat next to the green demon. "Try this one, Sam." She cleared her throat, and then began to sing. Her off-key voice echoed through the Hyperion's front lobby, and tumbled down the stairs the small group sat on. "_He's everything you want he's everything you need he's everything inside of you-_"

"Dude doesn't want to wobble through some piece of pop trash," scoffed a red haired teenage boy. He poked his hand through the railing and patted Sam's knee. "Sing this one, Sam. _Well I've never been to Spain, but I kinda like the music. They say the ladies are insane there, and they know hot to use it_."

Sam stared off into nothing, and Connor frowned.

"He's only resting, Connor," Jasmine had said. "He's been through so much pain, but he's safe here. With you. With me. With our new family. He knows it's finally safe to be still."

Sam looked at nothing, saw nothing, watched the world with flat hazel eyes, and Connor had no weapons that would help bring his friend back to safer shores.

"Children, allow me." A short twenty-something girl with curly brown hair and huge blue eyes pushed the teenager to the side. She gently patted Sam's cheek. "This is my favorite song Sam, _Yeah feeling good was easy Lord when he sang the blues. You know feeling good was good enough for me. Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee_."

Connor hated leaving him alone now and had been dragging the other teen around the hotel while he made his rounds. No chatter accompanied their walks. No insistence that they go back and retrieve the stuffed bear from the warehouse, no fairytales, panic attacks, or incoherent Latin ramblings about a man named Uncle Bobby. Sam's silence terrified him more than Sam's lunacy ever had.

"Let me help," demanded a tiny seven-year-old Hispanic boy who fisted his hands into Sam's jacket. "I can help, too."

Connor gritted his teeth. Everyone was willing to help, but it was more than that. Everyone _wanted_ to help. They passed food to strangers with joyful expressions and soaring hearts. No one whispered anymore, no one just spoke, they called to one another with jubilant shouts. People were no longer that one or her or him—they were sister, brother, uncle, aunt, grandma and grandpa, mother and father, and they made space for the lost where before no space could be found.

Connor found the whole thing a little irritating.

"He likes this one song," Connor broke in. He wanted to squirm when six pairs of eyes fell on him, but held his composure. Sam twitched at Connor's voice, and then stilled. "It's about being black. Back in black or something. Sometimes he hums it, but I don't know all the words."

An old man with a long blond pony tail and motorcycle boots chucked. "Kids got good taste." He reached forward, probably to ruffle Sam's hair, but Connor caught him at the wrist and bent the appendage back until it creaked.

"He's not a puppy," Connor snapped. "Stop trying to pet him."

He hated this. Sam, who used to physically throw people away from him when hands grew to close, barely batted an eyelash when a group of strangers coddled, petted and patted him.

"Calm down, cream puff," Lorne soothed. "We'll give the classic rock side a chance and see what we get, but Connor, if he doesn't want to sing there's not much I can do."

Connor nodded. "Just try."

The Jasmineites scattered when Wesley announced lunch and Lorne admitted defeat.

"Give him some breathing room, babe." Lorne smiled when one of Sam's fingers gently tapped the tip of his red horn. "Insanity can really knock the cream cheese out of people If Jasmine says he's taking a brain break, then he's taking a brain break. He'll be back to his old schizophrenic self in no time."

Connor scowled at Lorne's retreating back.

"What does a demon know?" he cursed softly. He sat on the step next to Sam.

"Are you sick?" he asked brushing his fingers over Sam's dry forehead. "Do you hurt anywhere?" Connor licked his lips. He looked behind him, and then across the tables filled with laughing people, all basking in the bliss Jasmine had made possible. "Is it because you don't feel it? Jasmine's love?"

Sam squinted as though he were seeing Connor from far away.

Connor leaned in close, insuring that his words would only be heard by Sam's ears. "It's okay if you don't, because I don't either. I know it's hard to see all these other people so happy when you can't feel any of it. But it's better this way. It's safer this way. You don't have to be scared. You're not alone. You have me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you, but I need you to come back, Sam. Please?"

A single voice, a single note was suddenly backed by a full orchestra of sound at Jasmine's appearance. The voices transitioned into applause that Jasmine accepted with a smile and a wave. When her eyes fell on Connor, the teenager gave her a weak smile and lifted his hand in greeting. Sam slumped into himself, and shut his eyes.

* * *


	15. Strawberries

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (15/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Strawberries**

She hadn't expected there to be pie. Hordes of people gushing about the new benevolent, and beautiful Jasmine, yes. Parking lots full to bursting, sure. The occasional individual who was sobbing with happiness, well, she'd seen five of those already, but free pastries were an unexpected and welcomed bonus.

"My car broke down three times, but I had to get here," Jessica gushed to the green skinned creature who handed her a large slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie. Any other time and she might have raised an eyebrow at the sight of this horned monster, but being so near Jasmine made her fear flutter away like a feather on a warm summer breeze.

"I get what you mean, sweet pea," the demon said. "You just have to be near her. It's like a drug."

The young woman pushed strands of butter-yellow hair out of her face. "The guy at the desk said I got the last bed in the hotel!"

"Aren't you just a lucky little princess!"

Jessica sat down on one of the few free spaces left in the already full lobby. Her back to the wall, she stuck her plastic fork in her treat and let her eyes sweep across the crowd. Men and women of every race, color and creed mingled with one another, smiling and laughing. A skinny Hispanic teenager carefully laid his hands against the bulging belly of a pregnant Chinese woman, and next to them a young girl in a colorful hijab played checkers with a pale freckled man that could have been Jessica's grandfather.

"Isn't it wonderful, what Jasmine has brought to all of us?" She had never been the type of girl so start conversations with strangers, not before Jasmine, but now she wanted to communicate with the entire world. The shaggy haired young man sitting to her right seemed as good a place to start as any.

She received no response, but Jessica was a positive person (or she had been for the last few days anyway) and so tried again.

"I'm Jessica Moore." She balanced her plate on her knees and stuck her hand out.

The young man didn't look at her or return the handshake. Determined, Jessica lifted his hand off his leg and squeezed his fingers. He looked worn, and unwell even in the bright afternoon sunshine. Jessica shoveled a piece of crust and pink filling onto her fork. "Have a bite of my pie. It's homemade, I think, which probably means it's fantastic."

The fork hovered in mid-air.

"Shouldn't take food from strangers," he whispered, but his head was no longer buried in his arms, and he at least glanced at the fork. "Pies, apples, cabbages, gingerbread, they all lead to more problems."

"Oh, come on." Jessica wiggled the fork. "It's pie. Everyone likes pie! My big brother once said we should make it America's national pastry."

He looked at her then, and Jessica's skin flushed. She felt as though she were being looked at for the first time. As though before these eyes had found her all she had been was an outline of a girl, never solid enough to take up space, and now she was being made whole and good and right in the deep pits of this boy's eyes. It was the way she imagined her mother must have looked at her when she was first born and new in the world.

"Okay." The young man's lips wrapped themselves around the pronged teeth of the utensil, and a gasp when up from the crowd.

"It's Jasmine!" Jessica exclaimed jumping to her feet. The plate fell to the floor, and the young man's teeth were the only thing that kept the fork from following. "Oh my god! She's looking at me!"

The great goddess who had set the world right was smiling at her, and Jessica let out a cry of protest when the tall man's broad back blocked her view.

"No need to push," she said, confused. "Jasmine's love is great enough to hold us both."

"No, it's here to choke us. It'll put us to sleep with the slow acting poison ingrained in its fingerprints." Clear hazel eyes turned to look at her. "Don't let her lace up your corset, and don't be scared. I'm here. I'll wake you back up."

Jessica had never been one for fairy tales, and she found herself unsure of what to do with the young man who had stood before her like a warrior, his lips stained red, crumbs in his hair, ready to do battle with a goddess with nothing but a clear plastic fork for a sword.

* * *


	16. Search

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (16/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Search**

California's National Guard stood at the ready, and each member held themselves straighter as Connor marched past. He was their general, the man who had been a part of the coupling that had brought their Jasmine into the world, and if Connor felt so obliged they would have allowed the teen to march them into Hell.

"Our targets may be armed," Connor barked. His voice filled the courtyard, and he held the attention of every man and woman assembled in the tight fist of his callused hand. "Keep your weapons at the ready."

Connor didn't care much about Jasmine's wishes. He didn't care that Angel, Gunn, Fred, Wesley and Lorne were out to end world peace. He didn't care about the pretty girl with the lion's mane of hair that Jasmine had led away. He didn't care that the Jasminites had started to whisper and point whenever Sam wandered among them, no longer a hallow-eyed stranger, but now a blaspheming profit who snarled at every mention of the goddess and tried to get Connor to leave the hotel every hour on the hour. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that truly mattered was getting Sam back.

"However, even if they fire upon us we are to attempt to capture them alive. Those are Jasmine's wishes."

To Connor it was like he possessed only one memory now. It started with the pain that shot through his body as he landed on the pavement after being thrown from yet another window. It climaxed with Angel landing on the roof of the waiting car like a cat, a stunned Sam in his arms. It ended with the squeal of tires and the smell of exhaust.

"The target known as Sam is to be immediately brought to me if found." Connor turned smartly on his heels to face the line of troops. "If he's harmed, the offender will be killed. Am I clear?"

A low susurrus drifted through the crowd. A murmur of unease unearthed at these words. Connor let his gaze seep over the group, his ice filled eyes killing each newborn sentence before it could utter its first cry.

Sam was bound to be frightened, but God help Angel's crew if he was actually bound. Connor knew his friend could be temperamental, even violent when agitated, but that didn't give any of Angel's people the right to restrain him.

"I asked if I was clear!" Connor growled.

A chorus of "yes sir"s cut through the air. Connor waved them forward, and a synchronized line of heavy footfalls cushioned the world behind him. High above, watching him with large brown eyes and a kind smile was Jasmine, who raised a hand to bid farewell her departing army and father general.

Connor would have let Angel and his people go. He would have let them drive off the ends of the Earth never to be heard from again with a song in his heart, but they'd taken Sam, and he'd kill them all for that.

* * *


	17. Funeral

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (17/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Funeral**

She was crying again. The little girl, Ana, who was supposed to be comforted by the weight of her father's arms as he held her, and the tone of his voice as he reassured her, was crying again. Connor suspected it was because the father in question was back to mumbling those same two words.

"Shut up. _Shut up_, Ana. Shut up."

Connor had already warned the man, and told him to be nice. This was his last chance to be a decent father and he was squandering the opportunity. It seemed that he needed another reminder, but Connor would deal with him next.

Cordelia slept on, beautiful and unconscious, like a fairy tale princess. The block of explosives was wrapped snuggly around her torso, the weight of it a replacement for the child she'd carried for so long. Sam sat near her an identical ring around his body. He was stretched out across the floor, arms and legs taking up as much space as possible. There was a trail of bruises and cuts running across the teenager's arms, and a deep scratch across his cheek from when Angel and the rest had dragged him through the sewers in their run from the now dead Jasmine. His whole body vibrated with unchecked tension, and he watched Connor with wide, confused eyes.

"Are we staying _here_ now?" Sam asked, taking in the frightened people Connor had lined up against the wall; the old woman and her husband, the woman who prayed in French, the horrible father and his little girl. All of them had explosives strapped to their chests, and Connor knew that none of them would live to see the sunset. "She's not coming here is she? We didn't block the door."

Connor knelt. He ran his hands through Sam's hair, and smiled when he cupped the back of the teenager's head. The shaggy haired young man smiled back when Connor rested his forehead against Sam's.

"In my whole life," Connor murmured. "You were the only thing that wasn't a lie." His fist came up fast, clipping Sam hard under the jaw. Connor caught him as other boy crumpled. "But we're both too broken to fix."

He stretched Sam out next to Cordelia, her feet by his head and vice versa. They hadn't like each other much in life, but they'd put up with one another for his sake more than once and he didn't think they'd mind doing it one last time.

Connor didn't believe in an afterlife. Heaven was as much of a lie as everything else, and he'd had his fill of Hells. Instead, he was hoping for a kind of sleep. Like the ones he remembered from his early days at the warehouse. Sharing a mattress with Sam or Cordelia, he would drift in between dreams, and occasionally Sam's cold foot would connect with his calf or Cordelia's warm breath would ghost across his neck, and he would know that everything he cared about was close and safe.

He didn't think that was too much to ask for, but he'd been wrong in the past.

* * *


	18. Magic

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (18/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Magic**

The folder landed atop Angel's desk with a smack. It was thick, overflowing with information, and held together with a straining red rubber band.

"You wanted to know why the senior partners didn't change Sam's memories. You wanted to know why you two are the only people in the world who can remember your son? The long answer is in there."

Angel stood, and pushed his chair against the wall. He skirted the circumference of the desk until Eve, with her cute button nose and tastefully expensive shoes, stood before him.

"Why don't you give me the short answer first?"

Eve shrugged. "We couldn't."

"You want me to believe that a spell cooked up by the senior partners couldn't handle the mind of a troubled teenager?"

"Sam's memories proved to be rather slippery," Eve said. "This isn't the first time Samuel Winchester has been under our care, and he's no less stubborn at twenty than he was at sixteen."

"Winchester?" Angel crossed the room. He parted the blinds that shut him away from the rest of the office and peered into the lobby where he had left Harmony to watch over Sam. "Nice name."

"Sam may or may not have had a rather large part to play in an upcoming apocalypse," Eve continued. Her thumbs and pointer fingers came together to steeple under her chin. "Funny thing about being cast in that kind of role. The universe writes you into the cast list, but never the script. You have to pen your own lines. Free will is an ugly thing. The only thing either side can do is try to control the production's blocking, and years ago, the senior partners felt that it was in our best interest to nudge Sam in our direction."

"You call that nudging?" Angel asked.

"Admittedly, some of our people got a little overzealous during the grooming process." Eve smiled. "It's all in the file."

The blond liaison gathered the bundle a papers off of Angle's desk. "Wolfram and Hart owns plenty of very fine facilities all equipped to care for someone like him. There's a very nice room with a view already picked out. He'll be under the supervision of the best doctors, healers, and shamans."

"No." The blinds snapped back into place. Angel opened the door, and snatched the file out of Eve's neatly manicured fingers. "He stays with me. Now get out of my office."

Harmony was ignoring the series of small flashing green lights that lit up across her phone in favor of braiding Sam's hair.

"Hey, boss," the blonde vampire sang. "How much longer do you want me to play babysitter?"

Angel waved her away. "You're done. Get back to work."

Sam let Angel take him by the arm. He was docile and silent during the elevator ride, and stayed put when the vampire sat him down on the couch in his private suite.

"Do you want to watch TV, Sam?"

Sam tipped his head back to study the ceiling. "I can't see the stars from here. Did you send Connor to get them?"

Angel clicked the set on anyway. _Ghostbusters_ flickered across the screen.

A thick layer of dust coated the outside of the documents, and the rubber band fell to pieces when Angel removed it from around the body of the file. The folder contained stacks of papers, three photographs and a small leather pouch that Angel put to the side.

The vampire started with the photos. The first was old, and so faded it looked as though it had been washed over in sepia tones. A man sat on the roof of a huge black classic car with two little boys. All of them were bundled up against a fall chill, and a boy Angel guessed had to be Sam was held on the man's lap. The same man and a beautiful blonde woman smiled at him from the second photo, and the third showed a smirking teenager in a leather jacket. The third photo had been taken from afar, the subject unaware that he was being captured on film, and he leaned against the side of the same car from the previous photo with his head tipped back in laughter.

The files gave the men and woman in these photos names. Mary, John and Dean Winchester; all dead. Mary had been lost in a fire that had started in Sam's nursery when he was six months old. Dean and John had both been gutted by a windego during a failed Wyoming hunt on Dec. 14, 1997. Sam, fourteen at the time, had been waiting in the car for their return.

"You came from a family of hunters," Angel murmured.

The files mapped the journey Sam had taken after his father and older brother's violent ends. Hopscotching across the country by way of a series of foster homes, Sam had finally come to a standstill in Los Angeles when he was sixteen, and admitted to the Petiot Mental Institution, owned and run by the fine people at Wolfram and Hart.

Words like _precognition_, _difficult_, _telepathy_, _intelligence_, _antichrist_, _escape_ _attempt_, _demons_, _sight_, _nightmares_, and _potential _were typed across the page in neat black ink. The partners suspected that Sam had been marked by the demon world, and had wanted to make sure he didn't try to force his own agenda into their schedule. They'd wanted Sam on their side, and they'd wanted Sam obedient. Sam hadn't been a willing pupil.

With a sickening clarity Angel, for the first time, understood why Wolfram and Hart had been so adamant about keeping tabs on his own actions, but never taken steps that would have put him under their thumb unless it was by his own free will. They had learned from their first mistake.

Sam had been labeled a lost cause. The partners had removed all interest in him, and would have left him to rot had the teenager not pulled a Houdini and escaped. Run for safety, and found Connor.

Angel slipped the photos inside the file, and bundled the papers into the stack knotting the ends of the rubber band together.

"Let's see what's under trapdoor number three," he said. Behind him he could hear Ray and Egon hunting for ghosts in the New York Public Library.

An amulet, a brass horned charm on a black chord, slid out of the pouch that Angel turned upside down. It clattered against the table and then spun across the wood halting near the edge. It matched the charm worn by the laughing teenager.

Sam was drifting when Angel slipped the chord over the boy's neck. He blinked muzzy eyes at the vampire, and yawned. "Did Santa come? Did Connor bring him?"

"Sam," Angel whispered. He knelt in front of the boy. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to take care of you now. Connor, you have to understand, Sam—Connor wasn't real. He was someone you made up. Do you understand me? He wasn't real."

Sam titled his head, studying Angel closely, and then closed the distance between them. His breath was hot and stale against Angel's face. "You're bossy."

"I know this will take some time, but—what?"

A mulish expression unfolded across Sam's face, and his jaw clenched tightly. "You're bossy. And short."

"Sam, I don't understand."

As Sam straightened Angel was forced to tip his head, and look up in order to meet the young man's furious eyes.

"You're bossy, and you're short, and you're a liar."

* * *


	19. Blood

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (19/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Blood**

The four buttons of the elevator sang out when Sam pressed them. B flat, E flat, F natural and F sharp. All of them came together in a neat little harmony when the round flat disk resting above the lines of smaller circles appeared and then gave way under the weight of Sam's fingertips. Sam cocked his head to the side and waited until the notes died out before giving a tentative applause. The elevator doors slid shut.

When the doors opened again, Sam stepped into the White Room with his hands shoved into his pockets and a line of sweat traveling down his spine.

At first there was nothing. He fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt, and wrapped his hand possessively around the amulet that hung from his neck. Sam scuffed his shoes against the floor hoping to see a line of black stain it, but to no avail.

The panther's scream came at him from every corner, every wall, and every hidden pocket. It seeped up through the rubber that coated the bottom of his shoes, and pounced on him from the ceiling. It wanted Sam to bend, but instead Sam tipped his head back and screamed right along with it.

He felt its hard yellow eyes sink into the skin on his back. It tried to burrow its way under his flesh and into his spinal cord, but Sam whipped around and snarled. The cat was huge. Its long black claws extended, and it pulled black lips back to reveal sharp white fangs and powerful jaws.

Sam hissed and the Conduit responded in kind.

Sam held its gaze. Pressure built up between them surrounding Sam's body and mind until with a loud pop he was thrown to the floor. Blood poured out of his nose and ears, and his teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip. The Conduit lay on the ground, panting and snarling blood dripping down its black nose and staining the fur around its ears.

"Can't hurt me anymore," Sam gasped, pushing himself to his feet. This time when the pressure began to build Sam dug his fingernails into his hand and pushed. The cat was knocked back with a painful yowl.

The small pained sounds were replaced by a roar that shook the walls, and Sam was momentarily air born. There was a pop, and a blinding pain that rippled out from his shoulder when Sam landed. Claws ripped through his middle tearing his shirt and Sam screamed while blood slid down from his wrists and ankles from deep wounds meant to drain him dry.

A line of yellow, like a shooting star flashed across Sam's irises. The cat's eyes, in turn, were dipped in hazel. Both man and beast quickly shook the colors off, but a grin spread across Sam's face.

"Liar, liar mama's on fire, and Connor lives at 221 Chestnut Ave," Sam choked.

He turned his head, and the horned amulet slipped into the hollow of his throat.

The panther stood on shaky legs, its body trembling. It cried and stumbled, occasionally pausing to frantically lick the long jagged cuts etched across its silky black fur. Its final roar slid Sam across the floor and into the now open elevator. He hit the wall with a sickening thud, and the doors slid home with a cheerful ding that rang out in A sharp.

* * *


	20. I'm Here

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (20/30)

Author: Silverkit

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: tigriswolf and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**I'm Here**

Gunn could get Sam to eat. He set burgers, tacos, full garden salads or packs of zebra cakes in front of him, slapped him on the back, and said, "Eat up man." Wesley could get Sam to sleep. Tucked him in and told him about ancient demon civilizations, Slayer lore and the ups and downs of his full day until Sam conked out. Angel blamed it on the accent, and couldn't help but find it incredibly unfair because he had an accent once upon a time, a fine Irish brogue that was much more soothing than any English one could be thank you very much. Fred could get Sam to bathe. Handed the young man a towel, smiled sweetly and in he went to scrub, rinse and repeat. Lorne could get Sam to talk (even if only one word in ten made any sense) and even Harmony could get Sam to sit still.

Angel couldn't get him to do a damn thing. His requests were always met with a mulishly set jaw, narrow eyes and a snappish sounding, "No!" though occasionally he's on the receiving end of "Shouldn't you be in Hell with the rest of the liars?"

And of course, since Angel was the one who practically took a blood-oath to care and protect Sam, he was the one dealing with the stubborn young man 98 percent of the time.

The white bandages wrapped around Sam's torso, chest, arms and ankles were fresh and still smelled faintly of antiseptic and hospital when Angel sat him down on the bed in his suite. The doctors and shamans, all of them flabbergasted and just this side of terrified at learning Sam had gone against the Conduit and survived, released him to Angel while he was still high as a kite on pain killers. The pain killers did little to keep him from being a pain in the ass.

"Don't touch me!" Sam complained as he tried to slap Angel's helping hands away.

Angel counted slowly to ten in Latin, in Romanian, and then Italian before responding. "I'm just getting you settled for the night, Sam."

There was a butterfly bandage just above Sam's left eyebrow, and it dipped when the young man narrowed his eyes.

"Just lie down," Angel urged, his hands pressing against Sam's shoulders.

Sam's mouth opened to deliver his favorite scathing response when Angel noticed that the light of every lamp in the room had flashed on. The lights grew brighter, and the bulbs hummed under the sudden strain until every lamp in the suite gave one final bright salute, and like a series of dying suns, exploded.

Angel tackled Sam across the bed, shielding him from the bits of broken glass that sailed through the air and sunk into the skin of vampire's hands and face. The young man's muffled 'omph' was drowned out by the sound of the mirror shattering, the glass waterfalling from the wall to the dresser and then across the floor.

"We really have to get a full diagnostic on your powers," Angel sighed.

The amulet around Sam's neck dug painfully into the vampire's breast bone.

SSSSS

There were moments, brief though they were, when Sam was coherent enough to hold a decent conversation. It was during those times that Gunn glimpsed the shy, intelligent young man who, despite visions, drugs, evil mojo and Wolfram and Hart, might still be hidden under the rubble in the trainwreck of his mind. Though, Gunn suspected he might make a better case for Sam's rehabilitation if he could get the guy to hold these conversations in the presence of another person.

"You're so jealous!" Sam exclaimed his arms thrown wide and his voice chasing itself in circles around the garage. "I _like_ the Viper. Don't be stupid. Your car did not get better gas millage."

"Sam," Gunn called. His leather shoes squeaked as he walked across the parking garage, eyes on the line of classic cars Angel owned. "Who are you talking to?"

Sam grinned, and shrugged.

"Come on, man," Gunn took Sam's hand in his own and steered him back to the office. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet."

SSSSS

Being incorporeal didn't leave Spike with a many options. Filling the time was a right bitch when you couldn't do anything but look and listen to the world around you. Spike had never had a deep yen to communicate with his fellow creatures, but boredom caused any man, or vampire in his case, to do crazy things, and the man in the elevator looked promising enough.

"Crappy music, right?" Spike asked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather coat.

The young man glanced at him, and Spike felt himself weighted, measured and found acceptable in the sharp green gaze. Mirroring the vampire's stance, the other man shoved his hands deep into the pockets of a brown leather jacket and smirked. "Yeah. The worst."

"I keep telling them to pump some Sex Pistols into this box."

The young man bobbed his head in agreement. "You'd think an evil empire would spring for decent tunes."

Spike had never wanted a cigarette more, but he pressed on. "So been here at ye old WRH for long?"

The elevator halted. The doors opened, but no one was waiting in the hall for the car.

"No," the freckle-faced man said. "Not long at all."

* * *


	21. Ephemeral

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (21/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Ephemeral **

A week before his death, Dean discovered a cavity in his left molar. Unable to leave it alone, he played with it while studying maps of Wyoming woodlands and reading archaic texts on wendigos. He'd press the tip of his tongue into the sensitive crease, and wiggle the tooth back and forth. Hot foods and cold drinks caused his entire jaw to ache, and while saner thoughts told him to tell Dad he needed a dentist, crazier thoughts wanted to see how long he could last.

A week before his death, Dean noticed a thickening in his dad's voice. He found a stash of square red gel caps tucked into the bottom of the green duffle that bore the name "Winchester" in bold block printing, a remainder of his dad's marine life, and stray coughs from the other bed sometimes woke Dean in the night. Dean left a bottle of cough syrup on the bathroom counter, and made sure tall glasses of pulpy orange juice found their way down Sam's throat that week, hoping to fend off the cold that would most certainly attack his brother next.

"Almost done, Sam," Fred said, her small hand resting on top of the tall young man's. "I just need one more blood sample for the lab, and you can go back to sleep."

Sam's free hand clawed for Dean's arm, and slid through the flesh. It itched a little, and Sam shivered. "Am I wrong?"

"Sammy, I told you yesterday, (_and_ _the day before that, and the day before that_). You're not wrong. I'm real. I'm just a little dead right now."

Sam reached for Dean's shoulders this time, and a low strangled cry fell from his mouth and shattered on the floor when his fingertips wiggled out the other side. "I've been to London to visit the cat." Sam shifted away from Fred, growing more agitated with every failed attempt at contact. "I made him give back what was mine. He had his claws deep in them, but he had no right to them. I was Jack and he was the giant. That's why I'm doing better. Unless, I'm wrong, which means you're nothing but stardust."

Sam leaned back into the mess of pillows that kept him upright. "If I'm wrong, then I'm not doing better at all."

"You're doing better," Dean promised (or maybe lied). "God, you got so tall."

Fred's smile was kind, but sadness weighed down at the edges. "Are you hungry, Sam? I can ask Gunn if he wants to come up and eat with you."

Sam ignored her. His hand hovered above Dean's eyelids, close enough so that Dean should have felt a tickle along his eyebrows. It ghosted down his temple, and dipped along the line of Dean's cheekbone where warm skin and comforting solidity should have been.

"There are always two bears in the story," Sam said. "I'm not wrong. There are always two."

The door to the suite opened with a bang, and Angel stumbled over the threshold. Using his back to keep the door open, the vampire juggled boxes, papers and disks in his full arms.

"How's the patient, Fred?" Angel asked glancing over at the bed where Sam lay.

"I've got the final blood sample right here." Fred gently pulled the needled out of Sam's arm. "He's got a tiny fever, but nothing so bad it would make him delirious. Of course, that means he's been talking to invisible people on purpose again, but that's normal for him so I'm taking it as a good sign."

Angel dropped his pile on the edge of the bed and pulled a headset off from around his ears. He advanced, one arm rising to hook Sam closer.

"Don't you touch my brother," Dean said, low and soft as Angel took a seat on the bed. The vampire missed the spot that would've had him falling through Dean's non-corporeal lap by inches.

Dean's list of personal goals was pretty short. At the moment, "Kill Angel" was warring for top billing with "Get Undead." Far as he could tell the vampire (and Jesus Christ if Sam was going to get kidnapped by a supernatural creature couldn't he have picked one that wasn't such a cliché?) was keeping Sam as some kind of pet. Thankfully, his brother's neck bore no puncture wounds, he wasn't being used as a midnight snack, but Sam was bruised and bleeding, and it didn't take a law degree to see that two plus two equaled evil creature of the night.

"Are you feeling better, Sam?"

Sam dodged away from Angel's seeking hands. Dean tensed, waiting for the backhand, but none came.

"Yeah." Sam bit his lower lip and looked over at Dean. "Because I'm right."

A week before his death, Dean's fourteen-year-old brother had been nose deep in _Watership Down_, sullen over their latest state jump, and sporting a set of indigo colored bruises along his torso from a particularly rough training session. Five years later, Dean opened his eyes and found he'd unknowingly traded open roads, adrenalin rushes, and scary smart siblings for a brother whose broken vocabulary left him feeling sucker punched, a dead father, and things in well-cut suits that made his bone marrow curl.

"You're not wrong, Sammy." Dean placed his hand on Sam's chest, and let it hover above the amulet that was his tie to the world of blood, and bone, and brothers. "And even if you are, don't worry. I'm going to fix this."

* * *


	22. Secret

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (22/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Secret**

Lindsey McDonald didn't do children, puppies, or the insane. Unfortunately, Spike seemed to enjoy handling all three.

"Found him standing in my kitchen this morning." The vampire popped the top off his beer and took a swig. "I gave him a bit of food, and a pat on the head, and now he won't go home."

Sam poked tentatively at Lindsey's hand. "You left the door wide open. So many things have gotten in." He cupped the broad palm in his, and began rubbing small circles across the former lawyer's knuckles.

Lindsey tried to escape from Sam's grip, but the young man made a disapproving 'hum' at the action. Lifting Lindsey's hand so that it was palm-side up, Sam pecked a line of Morse code across the skin with the nail of his pinky finger.

"Sammy-boy, reminds me of a girlfriend I once had." Spike propped his elbows on the table. Sam started at the nickname, but then gave Spike a glowing smile.

"Shouldn't you bring him back to Wolfram and Hart?" Lindsey gave his hand another tug.

"Dean said to stay here. Dean likes him, but don't tell him I told you." Sam's head nodded in Spike's direction. He opened his mouth and pulled one of Lindsey's fingers toward his teeth.

Lindsey bopped the young man on the nose. It got Sam to release him, but it also earned him a hard smack to the back of the head.

"We do not hit the insane in Spike's place." The vampire's tone was light, but there was a current of steel, and the promise of pain riding underneath it.

Not for the first time since he and Eve had started this charade, Lindsey realized how much he was looking forward to making the blond vampire bleed. But there was a time for action and a time for deception.

Lindsey ran a hand through his long hair, and plastered a horrified look on his face. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to—I just reacted."

"You use the evil hand often?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, and a playful smirk.

Lindsey decided then that he would peel the flesh off this one's bones when the time was right.

Spike stretched his arms high above his head, and stood. "When Broody McEmo Pants notices his boy has gone missing, he'll stop by."

"The hand is fine," Sam continued. "Bones, skin, and muscle, but there's nothing black and squirming in there. The evil heart, there's where I can see your problem. There are a lot of worms crawling through that organ."

"Out of the mouths of crazy puppies," Spike chuckled.

Lindsey smiled and imagined what it would be like to watch Spike boil in his own blood.

"Hey," Sam's eyes slid sideways, studying something only he could see out of the corner of his eye. "Dean's not real, but he is. Connor's not real, but he is. What else isn't real, but is?"

"Sorry, mate. I don't know who or what the hell you're talking about." Spike downed the last of his beer, and stood. Pulling Sam's chair out, he slid the piece of furniture across the tiles and into the living room. "Doyle, when you have one of your vision things, you let me know. Until then, we're going to see if Sam is man enough to beat me at Donkey Kong."

Lindsey nodded serenely, pictured a neat bullet hole in Sam's forehead and a sharp stake to Spike's heart, and reached for his coat.

* * *


	23. Clean

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (23/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Clean**

Bobby was up to his elbows in soapy water. A copper bowl, three knives (one of them a butter knife, the other two of the more lethal persuasion) and a small glass vial all soaked underneath the pink tinged suds. The coffee pot percolated happily from a spot close to his elbow, and the smell of coffee wrapped itself around the noisome stench of drying blood, creating a scent that Bobby was all too familiar with. Ellen sat at the table her fingers wrapped tightly around an empty black mug.

The steady thunk of ax blade against wood block drifted in through the open window with the smell of the promised spring storm. Bobby expected to hear the pounding of rain drops against his roof in the next few hours.

"There was no other way for this to end," Ellen said, her mug thumping hard against the table, just missing the shotgun that stretched across the cracking wood.

"No." Bobby fished around in the water until his hand connected with a knife hilt. "That little boy was dead before you and your girl brought him here." Bobby scrubbed the hilt of the blade, careful to get the crusted blood out of the grooves. "But I don't think Jo sees it that way."

Outside, the ax rose and the ax fell, though this time it was fallowed by a long string of curses.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at Ellen, but the barmaid shook her head. "She knows to come in if she's bleedin' out." Ellen ran a tired hand over her face. "If she's really going to do this, she's going to have to learn how to deal with a hunt gone south. She'll be okay, but she needs a few minutes without anyone hovering."

Bobby lifted the wet knife high and grabbed a nearby towel. He nodded his agreement, and rubbed the checkered cloth over the hilt and then the blade.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Outside, Jo was probably getting the first glance at the coming lightning as it danced across the South Dakota fields. Bobby wiped the last drops of water off the blade and laid it on the counter. One of them would have to retrieve the hurting young hunter before her ax became a lightning rod.

"Coffee's ready," Bobby announced. "How do you take it?"

Outside, the ax rose and the ax fell.

The knock on the door was unexpected. Bobby kept his distance from the residents of the area, with good reason, and no hunter had ever taken the time to knock politely upon his door.

Ellen traded her mug in favor of the shotgun, and slid into the shadows as Bobby undid the bolt.

Outside, the ax rose, and the ax fell.

Lily-Ann Weaver, the postman's daughter, stood on his stoop. She nervously eyed the dogs that sat stiff and alert at the sight of her, and then switched to nervously eyeing Bobby.

"Can I help you, Lily-Ann?"

A small brown parcel was shoved into Bobby's hands.

"My dad," Lily-Ann said, already backing down the steps. "Said that this came for you yesterday morning, and since he wasn't sure when you'd be in town again for me to drive it over." The girl almost took a tumble as one of the small black and brown puppies Lola had given birth to the week before nipped at her ankles. "So there you go." She carefully stepped around the pup and sprinted across the lawn.

"Have a nice night!" she called over her shoulder with a quick flip of her hand.

Bobby didn't bother waving back.

Hermit though he was, Bobby hadn't fallen completely off the map when it came to the world at large, and unless something had changed in the last month or so he was certain that a package the length of his forearm and the weight of a handful of gravel shouldn't need ten stamps, but ten stamps, each sporting a crooning Elvis Presley, was what had been splashed helter-skelter across the brown paper along with a handful of powerful symbols all of which translated roughly to "show yourself." The addresses, however, had been penned with a legible and even scrawl.

"Wonder that the post office didn't dump it in the dead letter bin," Ellen said, eyeing the package with suspicion. "What is it?"

Outside, the ax rose, and the ax fell.

When a sprinkling of holy water received no reaction, Bobby bit the bullet and ripped the top of the package open. He tipped a familiar amulet into the palm of his hand, and breath fled from his body.

"Bobby?" Ellen asked, her eyes jumping from Bobby's frozen expression to the horned amulet.

Outside, the ax rose, and the ax fell.

Dean Winchester appeared without fanfare. Bobby blinked, and it was like he had always been standing between him and Ellen, his palms pressed flat against the table and not looking a day over eighteen.

"Bobby?" Dean gasped. "Can you see me? Thank god! You have to help me. A freaking _vampire_ has Sam, and I'm dead, and not loving it, and damn it! Please help me, Bobby. You're my only—"

A shotgun blast of rocksalt tore through Dean's middle, and he fragmented into bits and pieces, all of them burning like shooting stars ready to collide with Bobby's old floor before one fierce tug had them heading back north where they reassembled.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, raised his hands in the air and turned. Ellen stood with the shotgun held steady, and her expression hard.

"I'm sorry. Do you need something, lady?"

* * *


	24. Ruby

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (24/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Note: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first three seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Ruby**

_July 1992_

She was hunched over the bar, breathing slow and deep, her chewed fingernails sawing small half moons into the wood when the door opened. Stale Nebraska sunlight fluttered across the floor riding on the back of the dry summer breeze. Ellen reached for the pistol tucked in-between the bottles of bourbon and whiskey.

"We're closed."

"Then why'd you leave the door unlocked?"

It wasn't a voice Ellen recognized at first. The accent had been removed with almost surgical precision, and while nothing on the body looked to have gone under the cold gleam of a scalpel, time had filled out some places and slimed down others so it took the space of a heartbeat for Ellen to recognize the form.

When the pieces clicked together in the barmaid's mind Ellen pulled the hammer on the pistol back.

Expensive heels, the red leather soft and molded around the nylons, clicked and clacked a sharp staccato rhythm across the floor. The walk was demanding and firm, the movement more of a predatory stalk instead of the clumsy romping gallop she remembered from the girl who pretended to ride pegasus' in wild flower fields once upon a time. Lips coated in a color probably named "Fresh Jam" or "Bold Bordeaux" were attached to a mouth that had once licked cream off the flat surface of a shared Oreo, and they lifted slightly.

"I heard what happened to your husband. I'm sorry."

"Working in that place, I bet you hear all kinds of things."

Fingernails, clean of muck and dirt, and painted scarlet like the blood splashed across John Winchester's shirt when he'd brought Bill home set a friable yellowed bit of folded paper atop the bar.

"I owed you. Now we're done."

"I don't want it."

The shoulders under the charcoal-grey suite jacket bob up and down. "Then don't use it. Stay a widow, and let what you had rot in the ground. Your choice."

The bullet zipped past the shell of Lilah Morgan's ear. Her ruby red ear drop twisted and shimmered in the light before joining the muddy footprints and beer stains on the floor.

"Your aim got better."

"Out. Get out."

SSS

Ellen bought the safe at high noon, tossed the paper into the flat black box and tore the combination into tiny pieces that settled atop of the dry dirt before she had time to see it. Ellen wanted to believe she choose the burial plot at random, because shredded and tattered though her sanity was, it was still there, hanging off her bones. She hadn't been raised a fool though, and she knew that with enough piss and vinegar she would be able to find her way back to this plot of earth if she ever cared to.

When the setting sun draped the fields in red and gold hues the hole was deep enough to bury a man, and liquid fire sloshed under Ellen's skin instead of muscle.

SSS

"Mama?"

Her eight year old was sleepy eyed and startled when Ellen lifted her out of bed, her yellow hair still damp from the bath.

"It's fine, Joanna Beth."

Jo wiggled, and opened her mouth to protest.

"_I'm looking a hard-headed woman_," Ellen sang, softly and off key. "_One who will help me do my best_."

Jo closed her eyes, her small fingers curled around Ellen's hair, and as the eldest of the Harvelle women rocked the youngest she hoped that tomorrow the empty pit in her stomach would be filled, and she'd be able to turn herself, and her world right side up.

* * *


	25. Evidence

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (25/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Evidence**

The glass under his hands was warm. There were Milky Ways, Snickers, bags of Skittles, and peanut butter cups held in round metal hoops just waiting to be pushed out into the open world. Square packs of gum, packets of dark red liquid, a bag of what looked like wiggling purple toes and—

"Dried scorpions?" Connor's nose joined his hands, and he pressed the mess of cartilage against the pane trying to get a better look at the contents of the vending machine.

When two fingers pressed against the small of his back, the Stanford student jumped and smacked his forehead hard against the glass. He tripped over his sneakered feet in his haste to twist around, and his hands grasped at the sides of the machine for balance.

One of the tallest young men he'd ever seen off of a basketball court was staring at him with wide hungry eyes. He poked at Connor's shoulder with his fingers, patted Connor's stomach and then gently tapped at the tip of Connor's nose.

"You _are_ real," he breathed. "I'm doing so well!"

"Yeah," Connor answered. He tried to move, issues of personal space and all, but the expression on the young man's face grew panicked. A small cry of distress slipped between lips that were chapped and bitten bloody.

"Okay." Connor's eyes searched left and right, hoping that one of the Wolfram and Hart executives would come tearing around a corner to claim the tall stranger. "Okay, it's fine. You're fine. Let's not start channeling Norman Bates or anything."

Long fingers twisted their way through Connor's hair. The fingernails had been chewed off, but besides these small things, the fingernails and the lips, the kid looked otherwise taken care of. He smelled like soap and shampoo, and the smile he gave to Connor was full of sunshine.

"Delilah cut it off," the shaggy haired kid muttered, perplexed. "Not all of it, but just enough."

"Hair cuts happen." Connor wrapped his hands around the young man's wrist, and pushed them away from his face.

"It was very nice to meet you, but I have to go find my parents now." Connor inched back. "Ride the elevator. Go to the top floor. Which I'm thinking is a place you don't visit that often."

Twitching fingers clutched the edge of Connor's shirt sleeve. The thumb and forefinger pinched the fabric and rubbed them between the pads of flesh. The smile faded.

"Don't leave me in the ram's belly," the kid whispered looking small and scared. "I'm not supposed to be here. I promised to stay away from here, but he brought me back. It's dark, the moon went out, the Bear went away again, the Hunter only comes out in the winter, and there are no zebra cakes in the vending machine!"

Connor sighed. "Okay." He took the young man's hand into his own. "Let's go find whoever lost you."

* * *


	26. Awakening

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (26/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Awakening**

Connor's memories were like tiny, gleaming shards of sharp light that had to be painstakingly fused back together until they created vast spinning galaxies of possibility. The final product took him weeks to form, and it was a confusing mess that was as painful as staring directly into the sun.

After the sixteenth day, he abandoned his astronomy and physics books, climbed into the old clunker of the station wagon, pressed the petal to the floor, and made the five hour drive to Los Angeles.

It was strange to see lines of sunlight sliding across Angel's shoes and legs without the accompanied smoke or the sweet smell of burning flesh. Connor stuck to the shadows, as uncertain of his place in Angel's office as he was of his place in the universe.

"I know that you're my father." They weren't the words that Connor had rehearsed on the journey back to Wolfram and Hart, but they would do.

Surprised, Angel laid a stack of files on his desk and stood. "Your memories came back?"

"Yeah, they're all mixed up with the new ones. All the good ones, the bad ones, the inappropriately erotic ones—" Connor closed the difference between himself and his biological father. "And all of the ones where I take care of a six foot four guy with floppy hair and really big eyes. Those are my favorite."

Angel watched him cautiously. Connor wondered if he was waiting for a fire storm of violence, but Connor wasn't that kind of man anymore.

"Where is he?" Connor asked. "What did you do with him?"

Angel sighed. "Right now, he's in one of the conference rooms. I think Spike is trying to teach him poker."

"The blond guy?"

"Blond vampire," Angel corrected. "And yes. Sam seems to have taken a certain…liking to Spike."

"What?"

"I'm blaming the accent," Angel said, arms crossing over his chest. "Kids got an obvious thing for an English accent."

"Is he helping him?" Connor asked, uncertain. "Is he trying to fix him? Did _you_ try to fix him?"

"Sam's situation is complicated," Angel said. "He can't be fixed with the flick of a wrist and a few magic words."

"That's not what I asked." There was no heat under his words. His anger has always been slow to build. His parents liked to say both their Irish heritages had cancelled each other out, and quelled whatever heat may have been kindled in Connor's belly once upon a time.

Angel fidgeted, uncertain and shamefaced. "Things have been pretty hectic around here lately."

Connor felt as though the world had suddenly crumbled under his feet and he was plummeting toward a vast black hole. It was the second time in a week that it had happened and he was tired of it.

"You didn't try?" Connor asked, stunned. "You have an entire evil empire under your thumb. You completely mind-wiped me, and you didn't even try to hook him up with a well-trained shrink?"

"I've made sure that he's healthy, and as happy as he can be."

"He remembers me," Connor said. "I saw him when I first showed up here and he remembers me, but the way he talked you'd think. God, did you tell him I didn't exist?"

"I did it for you," Angel said softly. "I wanted you to have a chance at normal. I wanted you to be happy. You didn't need the burden of another human life at eighteen."

The first time Connor heard the phrase "broken heart" he'd pictured a shattering red glass sun-catcher. He imagined that as the pieces fell they cut through the lungs and the liver, the large intestines, the veins and the organs landing blade first in the soft tissue of his stomach. Turned out he was right.

"I know you did," Connor said. "I understand what you did, and I'm grateful. But I'm taking Sam with me when I leave this office. And I don't want you to try and stop me."

"You can take care of him?" Angel approached him with hands held palm up. "Where are you living, Connor? At Stanford? In the dorms or an apartment? Can you afford food? Clothing? Can you take care of him and yourself?"

"We did fine before," Connor defended.

"Do you really want a repeat of 'before'?" Angel asked, gently.

Thoughts spun thick around Connor's head like clouds of poisonous gas that wrapped around Jupiter, but none of them sounded anything less than ridiculous. Connor stared hard at Angel's carpet, gray and no doubt expensive.

"Just let me see him," Connor finally said.

* * *


	27. Revelations

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (27/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Revelations**

Angel ordered them Chinese, but Connor had no appetite. There were sections of Sam's file that read like Greek to him (probably because there were sections of Sam's file actually written in Greek), but all foreign languages aside, the entire thing with a nightmare brought to life. A dancing, twisting shadow play that was being performed in the darker parts of his mind.

Both young men were perched on Angel's desk. Connor read while Sam pressed his hand hard against Connor's forearm, as though he was trying to pass through Connor's skin. He moved on to Connor's shoulders and then his hair.

"I'm real, Sam," Connor reassured, giving the young man's arm a squeeze.

"Of course," Sam agreed. "Spike said I had a good hand I just didn't know how to play it so I bet every kitten I had, and won the whole pot. Why wouldn't you be real?"

Connor wasn't a violent man, not anymore, but as he read he wondered if any of the men, women, or demons who had handled Sam all those years before could still be found in the corridors and cubicles of Wolfram and Hart. Which one of them had woven his new memories, and which one of them had tried to steal Sam's away? They'd have a lot to discuss.

"I like kittens," Sam confessed. "They're much smaller than panthers, and most of them aren't evil."

The page of the file fanned out across the carpet like the broken wing of a bird when the door banged opened and Connor abandoned reading in favor of blocking Sam. He was beginning to appreciate his new reflexes.

"Move away from him, you _7th Heaven_ reject," ordered a hard-eyed man.

The long black barrel of a shotgun was aimed at Connor's forehead. A brown-haired woman, a grizzled man in a trucker cap, and a young blonde, all armed, flanked the weapon's holder.

"Ahh, no," Connor responded. "No, I don't think so."

"Dean, this is Connor." Sam poked his head over Connor's shoulder. "He got his hair cut, but he's still real."

"Come away from him, Sammy," Dean called.

Connor straightened his spine and lifted his chin high. "He's not going anywhere with you."

"Oh yeah?" Dean's grin would have sent saner warriors running. "Who are you? Or around here maybe I should ask _what_ are you?"

"I'm Connor Riley." Connor crossed his arms, and then self-consciously uncrossed them, only to cross them again.

"Well, I'm Dean Winchester, and you'll move away from my brother or I'll drop you."

"I'd listen to him," the older of the two women warned.

"Dean Winchester is dead," Connor shot back.

Dean bristled. "Not anymore he isn't."

Connor grabbed the man's gaze and held it. The green in them was hard and jagged as though made from two clumsily cut emeralds. Connor's fingers twitched for a weapon of his own, but he violently squelched the urge. He didn't need a weapon. He wasn't that Connor anymore, and he wasn't going to start something that would scare Sam and end in blood being splashed across the walls. He was Connor Riley and he was going to approach this problem in a calm, collected non-blood letting fashion.

"Let's calm down," Connor started.

Angel crashed through the plate glass that separated the office from the lobby in full game-face.

"Or maybe we won't." Connor flipped Sam over the surface of Angel's desk, and braced the young man's fall when they both hit the carpet. Sam yelped in surprise, and Connor locked both his arms around Sam's torso as he dragged them under the expensive piece of wood furniture.

"Is this a meteor shower?" Sam asked his face pressed against Connor's shoulder. "The Bear is always good during a meteor shower."

"It's fine," Connor hushed.

There was no after-battle silence to let Connor know when it was safe to pop his head back out. Instead, he heard Angel call his name over the vociferous trail of swears that the furious young man spat into the air.

Illyria held the trucker high in the air by the scruff of his neck. "I believe this one is unconscious," she said with a reptilian twitch of her head. "May I keep the spoils of my battle?"

"If she gets to keep something, I want to keep something too," Spike whined. He was bleeding from a variety of bullet wounds in the shoulder, and his vampire face was still on display. Both the elder and younger women had been backed into a corner their weapons pointed at Spike's chest.

"You try keeping anything, I'll put another bullet in your kneecap," the blonde spat.

Angel held the man who called himself Dean Winchester. The vampire had twisted Dean's arm behind his back, and Angel's free arm covered Dean's windpipe.

"Don't let the liar touch my brother," Sam snarled. He tried to pull away, but Connor held him tight.

"He's a vampire?" Dean hissed staring incredulously at Spike. "I just thought he was English."

The sound of steel-toed boots filled the air, and Wolfram and Hart's security staff appeared at the door and the broken windows, their weapons at the ready.

Gunn stepped around one of the women who made up the first team. His sneakers crunched across the glass and he took in the scene before him with a shaking head.

"Man, our security really sucks."

* * *


	28. Sprint

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (28/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and LJ user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Sprint**

It wasn't the worst idea Connor had ever had, and there was always his attempt at jellybean soup to fall back on if anyone ever tried to label it as such.

He was pushing ninety, and his rust-bucket of car vibrated violently underneath his hands. Connor half expected the hood of the car to tumble off. The fan belt hidden underneath would snap, and called up as though by snake charmers, would wave cobra like in the hot California sun while he cursed and tried to stop without tipping them over as they navigated their way through the dirt.

"I can't believe you own this piece of shit," Dean, Sam's miraculously living brother, scolded from the backseat.

The truck ahead of them held the man Dean had called Bobby and the two women, Ellen and Jo. Connor tailed the blue pick-up closely, the bumpers of the two vehicles occasionally exchanged shy butterfly kisses. They weren't on the highway anymore. They weren't on any road Connor had ever seen on a map, but the truck was maneuvered with the agility and control of a well-trained professional.

"Ellen, she drives like a demon, doesn't she?" Dean's rattlesnake smile filled the rearview mirror. Sam was curled into his brother's side, sleeping thanks to a strong cocktail of drugs that were doing the Australian crawl through his bloodstream.

They'd have to explain about the move later. Sam hated moves, Connor remembered that.

A sharp jerk in the road sent him out of his seat and he was sure one of his balls remained hanging in the air when he landed.

"Watch it up there!" Dean hissed from the back a white knuckle grip on his brother.

Connor clenched the steering wheel. Pieces of its leather covering came off in his hand, and there would be constellations of small brown freckles decorating his palm the next time he looked.

The truck took a hairpin turn, and when Connor followed suit he heard the thud of Dean's head connecting with the window. A colorful line of impressive swears cut through the hum of the engine and the stuttering thumps and bumps like a rainbow through a patch of black clouds.

"If I'd known you were such a spaz behind the wheel, I'd have knocked you out the minute you opened my cell door," Dean spat. "Saved ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Sam wouldn't have let you leave without me," Connor responded, his tone even and calm.

Dean's eyes flashed, and Connor saw the other man's nostrils flare as he took a more possessive hold of the young man next to him. "Whatever."

Connor internally cheered. He was finding it difficult to keep the Zen-like patience he was so known for around Dean, and he needed a victory. Still, the distraction was a welcomed one. He welcomed anything that kept his mind out of what was probably happening back in Los Angeles.

The thought of the partner's liaison, the man who had looked at Connor with a far too pleasant smile and a surprised, but no less pleasant, expression for Sam and Dean, still gave him chills. He was trying not to think of the words Angel had whispered to him when he'd slid a card key into his hand earlier in the night. "Get Sam. Let the hunters out of their cells, and leave the city. I'm proud of you."

Sam's file bounced on the seat next to Connor, all of its secrets rubber-banded back together. A brown leather-bound journal weighted it down. Wesley had pushed it into Connor's chest before the group had bolted for the parking lot. Connor wondered what he'd find when he leafed through the thin pages. Connor wondered if the rest of Dean's crew would be camping out in his apartment. Connor wondered how he was going to feed all of those people on his currently supply of macaroni and cheese. Connor wondered how much of a problem it was going to be when he told Dean he couldn't just walk off into the sunset with Sam. Not without Connor's skinny silhouette bobbing in time with the Winchester brothers.

The car slid into yet another tight turn, and the left side's wheels were air-born for a moment.

"So what's Palo Alto like?" Dean asked. His thumb stroked across Sam's eyebrow. A small repetitive motion. "Lots of attractive college co-eds I hope?"

It wasn't the worst idea Connor had ever had, but it might just make it into the top five.

* * *


	29. Weapon

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (29/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

**

* * *

**

**Weapon**

There was a park across the street from Connor's apartment building. It was still under development, so the ground was a checkerboard of yellowed grass and soft black dirt. An in-progress playground marked one of the corners, and pieces of bright yellow and orange plastic fit together like battlefield set bones to create slides and monkey bars in the hazy gray dawn.

Dean stood with the building to his back and stretched. His fingertips brushed over the skin of his feet, and when the sinew was properly pulled the 18-year-old flopped to his back and began a series of crunches.

Joy rushed through him as sweat dampened his forehead. Being back in a body was exhilarating.

Crunches finished, Dean flipped himself over. Pressing the tips of his pointer fingers and thumbs together he made a triangle with his hands, and grunted when the first pushup sent him into the air. Next would be a run. In the past, training would have ended with a sparring session, but that was in the past. Dean tried hard to not to think about life before, even if it was a useless exercise since shards of it skulked along the boundaries of his mind whether he wanted them to or not. Memories of working under the hood of their lost Impala were piggy-backed by the sound of snapping bone, and his dad's last barked order before the wendigo had bit through the soft flesh of his throat. Memories of a skinny, grinning fourteen-year-old Sammy who brought home straight-A report cards and watched reruns of "Quantum Leap," stood back-to-back with images of Sam muttering darkly to himself, frantic in his need to reaffirm that his brother was made of more than broken pieces of memory and longing.

Ground work done, Dean dug his fingers and toes into the wet earth. He came out of the crouch in a sprint, his bare feet rhythmically pounding against the ground.

Sam was waiting for him at the end of the first lap. The big toe of his brother's bare foot brushed against the macadam of the street as though he were dipping it into the Pacific.

Dean slowed his pace, and then Sam was beside him, his long gait arranged to match his brother's.

They circled the park twice, and were on the verge of beginning the third lap when Connor joined them. The student's bare feet a pale contrast to the wet earth.

A wave of unease slid through Dean. The Harvelles had stayed three days before hitting the road. Bobby lasted longer, mulling around Palo Alto for over a week before an emergency hit and he returned to his library. His father's old friend had offered them a place, and Dean had accepted, ready to slip away while Connor was getting food, but Sam wouldn't budge.

_We can't kick dust into his face. No one understands him now, Dean. Don't unmake him again._

Bobby left alone, but with the understanding that they would eventually follow.

Connor met Dean's cautious gaze with a slight smile that blossomed into a warm grin when his attention shifted to Sam.

"Oh, cool," Connor said glancing at their uncovered feet as he ran. "Yours are missing too."

"Large scale moves are postponed when your feet aren't properly cushioned," Sam agreed.

Connor blinked. "You didn't."

"Do you want to eat zebra cakes for breakfast?" Sam responded.

"You totally did," Connor sighed. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where you hid them?"

Dropping back, Sam rounded the other man and playfully nudged his shoulder when he sped past.

Connor ran a hand over his face. "Nope, you're going to make me find them myself."

"You came to check on the state of my footwear?" Dean panted.

Connor frowned. "No. Well, yes. Can we stop?"

"Sure." Dean halted in front of a sapling that barely dwarfed Sam. The branches reached high, promising growth and prosperity. Snagging his younger brother by the elbow, Dean steered him away from Connor.

Connor shoved his hands in his pockets, and rocked self-consciously on the balls of his feet. "I was wondering if you'd like to spar."

"You want to learn to fight?" Dean asked, suspicious.

"I know how to fight," Connor said. "I'm actually pretty good at it."

"Sure," Dean said.

Connor rolled his eyes, and the move was so very _Sam_ that Dean's guts clenched.

"I used to do something at night," Connor began.

Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"Not that!" Connor colored. "Well, one time that, but mostly I would patrol."

"You would hunt," Dean corrected.

"Yes," Connor huffed. His annoyance sent an unexpected thrill rippling through Dean. "I want to start doing it again."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know that I can protect my family," Connor said. "I tried to make so many families before this, and it was a disaster every time. I was so messed up, but the worst part is that I helped destroy other families. There was this girl, and I took her from the people she loved, and I killed her. I broke her family. My parents, my sisters, Sam, they're the only good things I've ever had, and I'm not going to let anything happen to them, and I'm also not going to walk around knowing that other families are being ripped apart by things I can stop."

"That's very nice, Connor. I applaud your dashing white-knight attitude, but my brother is not your family."

"Why?"

"Is your last name Winchester?"

"No, but it isn't exactly Riley, and my feelings haven't changed concerning them."

"This isn't the same thing."

"Why not?" Connor asked.

Dean threw his hands into the air. "Because it isn't!"

"You're not the final authority on that!" Connor snapped, but he looked unsure and smaller than he'd been a moment ago.

Dean could feel Sam behind him, hazel eyes narrowed and staring hard the way he'd done at fourteen, the way he'd done at seven, the way he'd done at five. There were expressions that even insanity couldn't steal from his little brother.

_Everyday was an eclipse, and I couldn't find you, but he was there. I can't leave him here. He won't drown, but he'll tread water alone in the dark forever. _

Air hissed out from between Dean's clenched teeth. "We're done talking, Connor. Now, put your fists up, and come at me like you mean it."

* * *


	30. Tower Block

Title: Harder to Swallow Than Most (30/30)

Author: Silverkitsune1

Summary: Connor finds Sam Winchester, a young man whose mind has been ripped apart.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Angel.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: AU with a side of deep fried crack

Thanks go to: wild wolf free17 and lj user Samcandoit my wonderful betas.

Author's Notes: The start of this universe is set at the beginning of Angel, season four, right after the season's second episode Deep Down. That means the year is 2002. Connor is about 18 (I don't think the show every specifically says) and Sam is 18 or 19. There are spoilers up the wazoo for all five seasons of Angel, and spoilers for the first two seasons of Supernatural…kind of.

* * *

**Tower Block**

"You know when we were little," Dean said. "Our Dad used to do this with me and Sammy."

"Drink beer?" Connor asked. He took his first sip of the night out of the long-necked brown bottle.

"No, ass hat." Dean spread his own arms out as though he were preparing to gather the sky to his chest. "This."

Connor tipped his head back, and let his eyes feast upon the spring sky. The moon was only a thin sliver in the heavens, but the stretch of indigo above their heads was peppered with small pockets of silver light. His telescope, the one his sisters bought him when he had decided he wanted to be an astronomer, sat on its three wobbly legs. Sam peered through the eyepiece, his hands gently twisting the knobs as he sought focus.

"He liked astronomy?" Connor asked.

Dean popped the cap off his own drink. He tossed it lazily over the roof's side, and Connor heard it clatter against the pavement below. Connor was still surprised they were sitting here at all. He'd always thought the door to the rooftop was locked.

"He could navigate by them, and he knew all these crazy myths," Dean said. "The navigating part came in handy. The man could get us anywhere, go anyplace, and if he wanted he could disappear. Fall right off the map like there was actually an edge to the world."

"That's cool," Connor said. "This guy, Holtz, he was—it doesn't matter what he was, but he had this big hand in raising me, and he could track things. The original place I grew up it got so dark that would you wake up, and it would be like world had ended and forgotten to tell you. Didn't matter to him though, he could have found a flea on a black cat's ass. Nothing could hide from him."

"Fascinating," Dean said.

"Isn't is?"

"You looking for Orion, Sammy?" Dean called over his shoulder.

"Orion only comes out in the winter," Sam and Connor responded as one.

"The Bear is always around though," Sam added and tipped the scope back.

"The Great Bear," Connor explained, maybe to Dean, maybe to no one. "Ursa Major. It's out all year in most northern hemispheres along side Ursa Minor, the Little Bear."

Dean rested his elbows against his knees. "You sound like a textbook."

Connor shrugged, and rubbed the back of his hand across his face.

"You know," Dean started, hesitant. "Some cultures see more than just the Bear? The Iroquois say those three stars that make up the tail, the ones that are also the handle for the Big Dipper, are three hunters stalking the Bear. Alioth, has a bow and arrow to shoot him, Mizar has a pot to cook him, and Alkaid has the firewood. "

Dean tipped his head back, both of his hands wrapped around the neck of the brown bottle. "I used to know who I was rooting for in that story."

"You want a different story?" Connor asked. "I've got a vast cash of them. A few involve me getting thrown out of windows. You can have one if you want."

Dean sighed. "Stars are centuries old, right? How long do you think that bear has been running for its life?"

Connor could hear the soft scuffing of Sam's footsteps. They were moving away, crossing to the far corner of the roof. "How about your fascinating 'how I cheated death' tale? Tell that one. I still haven't heard that one."

"I think the bear story if fascinating enough for everyone on the roof," Dean volleyed.

"Dean, why are we sitting up here?" Connor questioned.

"Because the walls of your shitty apartment are starting to close in on me, and it's a nice night."

Connor ran his finger along the lip of the bottle. "What makes you think you're the hunted, Dean?"

"That's the story Sammy's telling. That's the way it goes now."

"I don't know. The one you're telling isn't the one Sam told me about that constellation when I found him."

Dean straightened his arm out, and let his empty bottle drop from his fingers. The two young men watched its decent, and Connor flinched when it splintered and split across the pavement below. A quiet stillness settled across the shoulders of the men on the roof, and it was as though it had been trapped in the brown glass bottle, waiting for someone to set it free.

"Dean, please don't leave." Connor's words felt too loud under the yoke of the new silence. Unpolished and heavy they fell from his mouth and tumbled into the gapping distance that separated them. "I know you want to take Sam and go, but please don't. It's safe here. Safe as any other place you're going to find. I could jump off this building and be fine. What better place to stay then with a guy who can jump off buildings?"

"I'm sleeping on your couch."

"We'll find a pull out."

"You're in college."

"I'm an excellent multi-tasker. Summer break is a few weeks away, and I was going to stay on campus anyway."

"Connor," Dean sighed.

"The summer," Connor begged, soft and low his hands gripping the sides of his beer. "Try for the summer, and if we want to kill each other by the end I'll drive you both to Bobby's, and all I'll ask is that you still let me see Sam."

Sam pushed his way between the two of them, long legs hanging off the building's side, and blocking Dean's face from Connor's view.

"Dean?" Sam asked, glancing from brother to friend and back again.

Dean ran a hand through Sam's mop of hair. "Going to need a haircut soon, little brother."

The sound of glass shattering against concrete caused Dean to jump. Gently nudging Sam back, he looked around his brother and glared at Connor's now empty hands.

"You know that was only cool when I did it, right?"

"Dean," Connor said. "Do you know what I think you should do if you don't like a story? If you don't like the ending or you think a couple of your favorite characters got the shaft?" He gave the star studded sky a salute. "Rewrite it."

_You have made something_

_Out of the sea that blew and rolled you on its salt bitter lips._

_It nearly swallowed you._

_But I hear_

_You are tough and harder to swallow than most…_

-S. Mansfield

**To Be Continued….**

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note_

_Well, there it is the last chapter. For this arc anyway. I had a thirty-prompt table for this project, and I meant to keep it at thirty come hell or high water. Unfortunately, this meant there wasn't enough time to do more than hint at a few things, and somewhere around chapter fifteen I realized I wasn't giong to be done playing in this universe even after thirty chapters. There is another arc for this story coming. I plan on using another thirty-prompt table to dive into a mess of issues that surround Connor, Dean and Sam that picks up from where this one left off. _

_Thank you to everyone who read, enjoyed and commented on this story. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Good night and good luck!_


	31. Four Directions We Could Have Gone In

Title: Four Directions Harder To Swallow Than Most Could Have Gone In But Didn't

Author: Silverkit

Summary: The title pretty much sums it up.

Warnings: Deep fried crack with fries on the side...and a little slash

Ratings: PG-13

Author's Note: It's totally not weird to write AUs for your AU! Thanks go to my beta Sam_Can_do_it

I'm trying to clean out some of my folders. Think of this as a kind of a bonus feature...

* * *

_**Another one of Silverkit's favorite characters could have found him first…**_

Sam found his way behind the counter and broke eight glasses before Dusa, only three weeks into her job as bartender, could stop him.

"I'm sorry, boss," she said. Her 's' were stretched thin like a piece of taffy, and the dozens of snakes that covered her head in place of hair joined in and elongated the hiss even further.

Sam had dropped to his knees, and was grinding glass pieces into the floor, slicing his palm open and letting the blood run.

Three of the vampires at the bar twitched at the smell of a fresh meal.

"Gentlemen. Ladies," Lorne said, with a quick shoulder pat to the closest vampire. Her game face was already in place. "Let's all keep our tongues in our mouths. How about a free round of fresh O positive? On the house."

The brood of blood suckers sat back, and the vampire with the game face went back to looking human and bored.

"I'm making stardust," Sam whispered in Lorne's ear when the green demon took Sam's bleeding appendage into his hands. Dusa appeared at his side, and handed him the aid kit.

"Make it quick boss," Dusa hissed.

"Come on, kid," Lorne said gently. He held Sam's bleeding hand high in the air. "Keep calm for me. Don't flip out now. Please not now."

Sam blinked, and tilted his head with a smile which Lorne reflected back.

"There we go," Loren said, softly. "We'll get you fixed up, have Dusa make me a sea-breeze and pretend this isn't the third time this has happened."

"There are too many pieces," Sam mumbled. "I can never put them all back together."

"_Would you like to swing on a star?" _Lorne sang softly, as he bandaged the cuts. "_Carry moon beams home in a jar, and be better off than you are_…."

_**Sam and Connor could have had a much different relationship...**_

"You don't look much like Daddy."

The vampire ran her pale hand down Connor's shoulders. The moonlight made her skin as white as bone, and her black eyes burned into his face like smoldering coals.

"You're like a willow weed. You bend at the slightest breeze." she sighed. "Daddy was like a hurricane. Always uprooting the trees."

Connor growled, and jerked away from her hand. His chains rattled at the movement.

"I miss, Daddy," she said mournfully.

She moved across the room, her long skirts rustling like waves of crimson with every step. The vampire Connor had been hunting earlier in the night watched him from the shadows, and when the female reached him she ran an apprising hand down his chest.

"You tried to kill my wishing star," the vampire continued. "But don't worry. I know how you can make it up to him."

The younger vampire was impossibly tall. When he leaned forward, fangs bared, Connor kicked out trying to knock him away, but the teeth had already sunk deep into the flesh of his neck.

"You can let him break you open, and create a meteor shower out of the pieces."

_**There Could Have Been Slash!**_

When Connor was seven his favorite movie was _101 Dalmatians_. He could recite the animated classic by heart, and had driven his parents close to insanity with his insistence that the film be played again, and again, and again until even his sisters, dog lovers though they were, staged a revolt that ended with him relinquishing control of the VCR. It was a nice memory, even if it had been crafted by a demon.

"My nose is froze," Sam grumbled. The youngest Winchester pressed his feet against Connor's jean clad leg, and a chill sunk through the denim as Sam carefully maneuvered a pair of sharp scissors around the square of folded blue paper in his hand. "And my ears are froze. And my _toes_ are froze."

"We're not at that part yet," Connor said, his fingers encircling Sam's ankle. The temperature in Palo Alto was in the low nineties that night, but Connor draped the tattered stretch of sleeping bag that hung over the back of the couch across Sam's legs anyway.

Sam muttered something unintelligible, and ignored the plight of Perde and Pongo in favor of his project.

The light from the T.V. washed the two young men in white-blue tones and Connor sank further into the already drooping couch cushions. The joy of watching 101 pint sized puppies scamper across a snowy landscape made several knots in his chest loosen and stretch out. He was afraid of everything it seemed as of late; of getting his favorite pizza topping or pouring his favorite breakfast cereal or reading his favorite book. He knew it couldn't possibly be healthy to be afraid of different kinds of Poptart flavors, but he was unable to squash the one burning question that lingered behind everything he thought he'd once enjoyed. What if every aspect of himself, every bit of information that made him Connor was different now that his real memories were back?

The steady snick of Sam's scissors added to the movies soundtrack, and a long line of thin blue paper began curling in the Sam's lap.

Connor could cope with the nightmares, and he could deal with the superpowers, but the thought of having to relearn every part of himself, every like and dislike, every opinion, made him feel tired and beaten even as he sat safe on the couch in his apartment.

A flood of yellow light filled the room and wrapped itself around Connor's shoulders like blanket when the front door opened. It was gone in a click, and the lock slid into place.

"Hey Sammy."

Dean smelled like cigarette smoke, cheap beer and leather. The truce they'd made over the last few months was still as fragile as spider silk. Dean trusted Connor not to kill Sam while he went out and did whatever it was he did that brought in his share of the rent and grocery money, and Connor trusted Dean not to take off in the middle of the night with Sam. It was a little uncomfortable to admit that the trust mostly came from Sam rolling his eyes whenever Dean eyed Connor suspiciously, and because the one time Dean had tried to take off in the middle of the night Sam had outright refused to leave without Connor, but a start was a start.

A solid hand landed on his shoulder and Dean leaned over the couch. "What the hell are you watching?"

In the dark, Connor shifted in his seat. Something flipped inside his stomach.

"My favorite Disney classic," he responded. "Care to sit?"

Dean circled the couch and lifted Sam's feet. He plunked down between the two of them, and grinned when Sam grumbled about Dean's rearrangement.

It wasn't a new feeling, this rush of heat or the hyper awareness that made Connor feel more like he was sitting next to a flame instead of a human being, but it was the first time the feelings had occurred without the assistance of the female gender, and whatever coils of anxiety had been massaged away by the movie were tightened again.

"Hold these," Sam insisted, and pushed the scissors at his brother. Grabbing the points of his paper construction, Sam pulled his arms wide to reveal a line of blue paper stars, each one of them connected to the other at the tip.

"Where did you learn how to make that?" Dean tapped his brother's creation gently and the line fanned back and forth.

"Harmony." Sam looked down at the eight paper stars that stretched from one hand to the next. "She had fangs, and her unicorns were very chatty."

"Dude," Dean poked Connor in the ribs, and Connor felt all the warmth in his face rush for lower areas. "Did you know about this?"

Reaching across Dean, Connor snagged an edge of the sleeping bag and pulled it over his lap.

"No, it's a recent development."

_**There could have been more tattoos…**_

"Hold still," Lindsey said between gritted teeth.

The desert heat made the inside of the hut stifling and sticky. Sweat soaked through Lindsey's plaid shirt, and ran into his eyes. The salt of it stung his eyes and made him swear. He stopped his project, and laid the needle to the side.

The work was only half done, and if Eve hadn't brought this with her insisting that he could be useful (never a bad idea to have a possible antichrist in your corner) he would have tossed the kid out the door and let the desert snakes have him.

No breeze came across the sand, and the suffocating heat made even the walls seem like they were sweating.

Lindsey poured another shot of whiskey into the stained glass and handed it over to the kid.

A stubborn set to his jaw, and the kid glowered at him. "Alcohol thins the blood."

He thought about forcing it down the boy's throat, but instead grabbed the glass and let the liquid burn down his throat.


End file.
